That’s My Wife!

That’s my wife!

Photo by Robin Ooode on Unsplash

I was getting kicked out of a Cracker Barrel. The manager came out and told me to go to my car. That’s not my car, I said. That’s my wife! He was stunned. We all were. I left.

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I drove to the airport. I had important business to attend to in Albuquerque. A policeman pulled me over. He asked me for my license and registration. That’s not my license and registration, I screamed. That’s my wife! The indignity of it all. He gave me a warning. I gave him one, too. Then he gave me a ticket.

I was back on the open road. I picked up a hitchhiker. He asked if he could put his duffle bag in the back seat. That’s no duffle bag, I informed him. That’s my wife! I sped off, leaving him there.

I got to the airport. The woman at TSA said I couldn’t bring so much toothpaste on the plane. It wasn’t toothpaste. It was my wife! They put me in a room for a long time. Society is a mess. But I still made my flight.

I sat down on the plane and had a long think. It had been a confusing day. Then someone came up to me and said I was in the wrong place — they’d reserved the window seat. I let out a long sigh and made the sign of the cross as I prepared to give them the scoop. That’s not a window seat, I explained, tearing…