If we get another winter storm, I’m going to have to move.
It’s not because I don’t like cold weather (although I don’t). It’s because if we get another winter storm, there won’t be anywhere in our house for me to live.
My wife is what you call a worrier. There is nothing so small or insignificant that my wife can’t spend time worrying about it. Right now, as I type this, my wife is busy packing for a work-related trip out of town. In the past few minutes my wife has told me that she is worried that she won’t pack the right clothes. She is worried that she won’t pack enough clothes. She is worried that she will pack too many clothes. And, of course, she is worried about the weather.
Of all the things my wife worries about, the weather is clearly in the top 10. In fact, if my wife’s worry rankings were taken today, weather would be No. 1 and get the top seed in her worry championship tournament.
My wife started worrying about the weather late last week when the weather people began talking about snow and ice for the weekend. When my wife worries about the weather, the first thing she does is go to the large, 24-hour retail store in our town and buy enough food and miscellaneous junk to last us until 2020.
This, despite the fact that we always still have most of the food and miscellaneous junk my wife bought before the previous winter storm that was supposed to last us until 2018. If you do the math, we then have enough food and miscellaneous junk to last us until (let’s see, carry the one, divide by the square root, do something with the cosine, and inverse X so that it becomes Y) the end of the 2037 Oscars’ telecast.
We have a lot of food and miscellaneous junk in our house, is what I’m saying.
On Thursday evening my wife called me as she was getting ready to leave work.
“I’m going to the large, 24-hour retail store in our town. Do you need anything?” she asked.
“No,” I said, because I didn’t need anything.
“Do we need milk?” my wife asked.
“No,” I said, because nobody in our house drinks milk and because my wife bought roughly 27 gallons before the previous winter storm.
“How about bread?” my wife asked.
“No,” I said, because we had more bread than a French bakery. “You don’t need to get anything. We have plenty of everything.”
“OK,” my wife said.
Three hours later my wife called me as she was pulling into our driveway.
“I need some help unloading,” she said.
I looked at the sacks of food and miscellaneous junk in the back of my wife’s car.
“I thought I told you that we didn’t need anything,” I said.
“I just bought some extra stuff in case we get snowed in,” my wife said.
I wanted to ask my wife if she was anticipating that we would be snowed in for several years but I knew that if I did my wife would say, “You’re right. I better go back and get more.” So I kept my mouth shut.
By the way, to all of you rookie husbands out there, if I ever write a book titled “How to Become a Veteran Husband,” my first chapter would be called “Keeping Your Mouth Shut.”
Making things worse, at least for me, is that before my wife showed up with a load of food and miscellaneous junk, I had spent an hour clearing all of the other miscellaneous junk off of our kitchen counters.
So within minutes of carrying the food and miscellaneous junk into our house, my wife had managed to spread things all over my clean counters. I was so mad I almost swore like a Pope.
I just checked the weather forecast, and there is a chance we might get more snow later this week.
Do you have an idea for Mike Pound’s column? Call him at 417-623-3480, ext. 7259, or email him at firstname.lastname@example.org. Follow him on Twitter @mikepoundglobe.