Everyone that has worked in the biz has met their own Mrs. Miller. She, usually a woman, complains about anything and everything and is rude to waitstaff. (If she won the lottery, she'd complain about the taxes.) Always demanding, never happy, and unless widowed is usually accompanied by a very pleasant man who looks like he is patietly waiting for sweet sweet death.
A half dozen years ago my wife said to me, "If I ever get like Mrs. Miller, please just shoot me." Flash forward, and in the past two years I have found myself waking up in the morning with Mrs. Miller laying next to me more and more often.
Fortunately, the transformation is not complete. Although I find myself playing the meak husband 90% of the time (Survival mode I think they call it), there are lucid periods where Mrs. Miller is NOT my wife.
Through the wonders of pharmaceuticals, Mrs. Miller has been absent more often than not in recent weeks. In the past couple of days though, there isn't a happy pill in the world that could relieve our home of Mrs. Miller. (Next week the dosages gets adjusted... Seriously)
Now, back to our agreement 6-7 years ago, I do not think that there is a court in the land that would allow me to say, "Your honor, my wife had a verbal living will that stated that I should pull the plug so to speak if she ever became Mrs. Miller. I therefore plead innocent." Vermont is a liberal state, but not THAT liberal.
In the past I would just go to work early and stay late when Mrs. Miller was in town. Everybody who knows me refers to me as the guy who works a hundred plus hours a week. Right now I am between jobs and evaluating my career. Sadly, I have no place to be that often.
Oh, what spurred the pharmaceutical solution in large part was a phone call that my wife answered last month. "This is Brian from Haliburton, could you tell Derek that we have a position for him in Afganistan."
"Do I really yell that much?"
"Yes, it would be easier to get shot at once in a while to getting ripped a new one for:
- making coffee and tea, changing the baby, and letting the dogs out in the wrong order.
- putting the stopper on the back of the sink while I clean it.
- wearing my kitchen clogs to walk to the mailbox.
- wearing my sandals to walk to the mailbox.
- wearing my boots to walk to the mailbox.
- walking barefoot to the mailbox.
- Asking if it is Okay if I wear dress shoes to walk to the Mailbox.
- Not painting the porch.
- Painting the porch.
I think that I'll pause my vent for a moment or 30 and smoke a cigar. If only I had scotch in the house, I would no longer have scotch in the house.