Until I was married, I didn’t know when I was wrong.
I needed someone in my life to tell me what to do. To tell me if that shirt goes with those pants. To inform me of what foods I like and which I despise.
(I still think she had it backward when it came to beets and Boston cream doughnuts. ...
I froze when I pulled the card out of the mailbox.
It was from my sister-in-law, the one famous for packing greeting cards with a fiesta of tiny, shimmering confetti.
Open the card without precautions and a shower of shiny cutouts of party hats, streamers and noisemakers, and silhouettes of ...
The guy in the electronics department asked what sounded like an impertinent question: “Do you want a mouse with a dongle or without?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your wireless mouse, do you want one with a dongle or are you using WiFi?”
I still find it odd that we call the little slidey ...
Learn, young grasshoppers, from the wisdom of an old widower: The reason communication can be so difficult in marriage is that while we use the same words, we speak different languages.
I learned this many decades ago when I had the morning off, didn’t feel like cooking and had no money. I ...
It seems like a guy can’t even buy a hamburger without getting a side of surveys.
I ran into a store for a box of tissues and a birthday card. A few minutes later, a survey popped up in my email: “Please tell us about your shopping experience.”
Pick up a prescription and get handed a ...
My life is a series of lists.
I used to remember things. Now I write lists. My pants and shirt pockets are stuffed with assorted scraps of paper-bearing lists — none of them the ones that I need at the time.
Magnets hold several lists on the refrigerator, including the shopping list. But I ...