Larry Tate Is A Jerk

As I sit in my usual spot on the couch watching yet another black-and-white episode of Bewitched, I can't help but notice for the umteempth time what a pig that Larry is... an old, gray-haired man in a suit checking out every female form in a skirt that strolls by his office door. In tonight's plot, he thinks Darrin (Darren?) is fooling around on Sam and slaps him jealously on the back. That a boy, he says. You son of a gun, he gushes.

oink, oink, oink.

Next up is I Dream of Jeannie. Nothing like a little feel-good manipulation to get a man to do whatever you want (sarcasm alert!). I will say this, though... I have always been jealous of the cushy digs Jeanie has in that bottle. Granted, she can also get trapped in those digs with a simple plug of a cork. There's always a trade-off to the peace and quiet a woman craves. I suppose a man feels the same way.


(lapse of time due to a cookie break)


I heard my phone ringing and as I pulled myself off the couch, I grumbled under my breath about who would be calling me after eight-thirty on a Friday night. I mean... sheesh. Some of us enjoy the comfort of a mundane evening, at least most of the time. The name popping up on my phone was that of the husband. I never even noticed he left.

What are you doing? he asked.

Talking to you, I said trying hard to keep the duh! out of my voice.

He told me to come out to the backyard (which explained why I never heard him leave). When I hesitated- I mean, I was awfully comfortable on that couch, he sweetened the deal: I've got a fire going and your chair by mine. That kind of offer is hard for even a bum like me to resist.

So we sat together watching the flames of our first bonfire of the new year.

Peaceful. Quiet. No Jeannie's bottle necessary.

And no pig-of-a-man Larry Tate in sight.