Good news friends and neighbors! My wife, the reasonably understanding and slightly-less-than-normally forgiving Jess, has decided not to kill me. I know that you’ve all been worried sick about it. I can just picture you all, unable to eat, the sleepless nights, all life become suddenly meaningless because of your grief and concern for me. Well, rejoice, ‘lil Buckaroos, your suffering is at an end (actually, it’s probably just deferred, because what are the odds that I’ll never end up in that situation again?) Granted, I could have ended your suffering as early as Saturday afternoon, but I thought it best to wait a few days in case Jess suffered a relapse of her homicidal impulses. Plus, as I said at the end of my last post, it really was all your fault.

How, you may ask, did I avoid an unspeakable (and let’s face it, well-deserved) fate worse than death? Well, I started out by pouring on the old, infamous Moon Mullins charm. As when I first began my relentless pursuit of the luscious and delectable Jess over 20 years ago, that was a near-fatal mistake. Again, some people just never learn. Then I fell back on the same tactics that ultimately bagged her in the first place. I sucked up. I begged. I pleaded. Once I’d softened her up with my barrage of pitiable penitence, I brought out the big guns, the tremendulous trio of whiskey, hot oil massage and unequaled (at least as far as she knows) sexual prowess. I don’t like to brag (well ok, I do.), but she was still smiling Sunday morning, and not just because she was looking forward to Church. Not that my efforts are without a downside. My standard heavy-handed approach (if some is good, more is better!) has pretty much turned our entire bedroom into a giant Slip-and-Slide. It may be weeks before we can walk through it without cleats. However, I’ve always felt it is better to be enthusiastic than good, so “Mission Accomplished” I say. There is no domestic difficulty that can’t be overcome by whiskey, a sense of humor, and a 55 gallon drum of lube (If you think I’m kidding, check this out. You’re welcome! Don’t forget to read the reviews.)

Needless to say, I was pretty pleased with myself. I didn’t even have to resort to my last-ditch tactic of enticing her with my Bob and Doug Mackenzie album, which is a good thing, because that never worked the 1st time around either. I’ve never understood her resistance to the soothing tones of Bob and Doug’s Canadian accents and beer-based comedy. The woman obviously has a soul of stone, but that notwithstanding, being married to her is still the best thing by far that’s ever happened to me. I’m a lucky guy.

So, friends, fans, loyal readers, and those of you who stumbled upon this humble blog by accident, let your hearts be filled with rejoicing and gladness. I have survived to screw up another day.