On this St. Patrick’s Day holiday, I arose quite early, as I always must on Thursdays, to get ready for dialysis. For obvious reasons, the concept of wearing green to commemorate the day was the farthest thing from my mind. I served my four hour sentence getting my blood cleansed and rode home on the transport van. I fixed myself a quick lunch and went in to spend some time on my computer before it was time to go to class.
Soon my wife arrived home for her lunch break and mentioned that she and her mother were going to go to Valentine this afternoon. She sat next to me, at her own computer, and then looked over at me. A smile played across her lips and she reached over and gave me a good solid PINCH on my upper arm.
“OUCH!” I yelled, jerking my arm away. “You’re not wearing green,” she grinned. I rolled my eyes at her, nursing my bruised ego as well as my sore arm. I looked over at her and saw immediately that she was wearing a deep green shirt. Damn.
She got up and crossed over to the other side of the room, fiddling with something in her sewing box.
A moment later she came back over to me and tied a double strand of olive green yarn around my left wrist. “There,” she said. “Now you’re protected.”
“You could have done that first,” I muttered, teasing her. “I think you have your priorities out of order.”
She smiled and went back to browsing the Internet.
Soon my wife arrived home for her lunch break and mentioned that she and her mother were going to go to Valentine this afternoon. She sat next to me, at her own computer, and then looked over at me. A smile played across her lips and she reached over and gave me a good solid PINCH on my upper arm.
“OUCH!” I yelled, jerking my arm away. “You’re not wearing green,” she grinned. I rolled my eyes at her, nursing my bruised ego as well as my sore arm. I looked over at her and saw immediately that she was wearing a deep green shirt. Damn.
She got up and crossed over to the other side of the room, fiddling with something in her sewing box.
A moment later she came back over to me and tied a double strand of olive green yarn around my left wrist. “There,” she said. “Now you’re protected.”
“You could have done that first,” I muttered, teasing her. “I think you have your priorities out of order.”
She smiled and went back to browsing the Internet.
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