A Doggone Limerick
By Madeleine Begun Kane
“It’s so cute!” said the child, with delight.
“You can’t have it,” said Mom. “Puppies bite.
It’s adorable, true,
But dogs nip, bark, and chew,
And your Daddy will cower in fright.”
UPDATE: Happy National Puppy Day! (March 23rd)
A Rueful Rhyme
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Your inventions are brilliant, it’s true.
Yes, you’re smart; it’s your rudeness I rue.
I regret that I met you,
My failure to vet you,
And, mostly, my saying, “I do.”
Belated Apology
By Madeleine Begun Kane
“Your apology’s rather belated,”
Said the gal to a fellow she hated.
“Your delay makes me fear
That it isn’t sincere—
You still had your hair when we dated!”
*****
UPDATE: October 14 is Be Bald And Free Day.
Sibling Trickster
By Madeleine Begun Kane
“Pick a card,” was a phrase I would hear
As a child, from my brother, all year.
He did card tricks—his hobby.
I’d answer, quite snobby:
“Magician, please go. Disappear!”
Surmounting Marriage
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Before agreeing to marry my husband Mark, I asked him the usual questions:
Mark told the appropriate fibs, I pretended to believe him, and several months later we wed. But soon after the wedding, I realized I’d forgotten to ask the most important question of all: When you see a mountain, do you get an irresistible urge to do something stupid? (Surmounting Marriage is continued here.)
A Take-Charge Marriage
By Madeleine Begun Kane
We’re both bossy, my husband and I.
Domineering, some say with a sigh.
But though some might disparage
A two-bosses marriage,
Each day is the Fourth of July.
Marriage Catch
By Madeleine Begun Kane
Said the fellow, “I need some advice.
Tell me how I can catch me some mice,
Cause my wife saw some lurk
By the fridge—went berserk!
Till I catch ’em, my sex life’s on ice.”
Is It Safe To Go Shopping With Your Mate? (Humorous Quiz)
By Madeleine Begun Kane
One sure way to test a relationship is to shop with your mate. Not only is joint shopping stressful, but it amplifies differences in temperament and taste. It can even lead to bickering, brawls, and mayhem. So take this compatibility quiz now. Or risk being ousted from your favorite boutique.
1. When you arrive at the mall he:
a. Says “Let’s shop together. It’ll be fun.”
b. Says “Meet me in hardware.”
c. Vanishes.
2. In men’s clothing he:
a. Asks your opinion and compliments your taste.
b. Buys a tie he already owns.
c. Bemoans the demise of the leisure suit.
3. In lingerie he:
a. Says you look sexy in an oversized robe.
b. Asks you to model see-through garments too small to identify.
c. Hands you a Wonderbra. … (“Is It Safe To Go Shopping With Your Mate?” is continued here.)
(You can visit my marriage humor collection here.)
Exchanging gifts, while fun in theory, offers endless potential for aggravation: Thronging crowds, ransacked stores, confusion, indecision, cash depletion and, finally, the belated knowledge that you bought the wrong thing.
And even worse, perhaps, is receiving a spousal gift that you wouldn’t buy for your worst enemy. Well, maybe for your worst enemy, but only if it’s on sale.
But there is a cure for the holiday gift blues. Just substitute this agreement for those subtle hints — the ones that are always either missed or misconstrued. Then kiss that Returns Counter good-bye. This year’s gifts are for keeps.
AGREEMENT entered into this ___________ (Date) by Husband and Wife, hereafter called “Couple.”
WHEREAS, Couple often argues over ill-chosen gifts; and
WHEREAS, a gift giving agreement may save Couple’s marriage and/or reduce return trips to the mall.
NOW, THEREFORE, Couple hereby agrees to these provisions:
GIFTS FOR WIFE:
1. Self-serving gifts shall be avoided. For example, Husband shall not buy Wife the following:
a. Chocolate when Wife is on a diet.
b. Tight clothing meant to encourage Wife to diet.
c. Anything transparent.
2. Husband shall not give Wife practical gifts such as an iron, a dish washer, or a vacuum cleaner… unless husband plans to use them. … (My Mad Gift Giving Guide is continued here.)
Being a feminist, even a moderate feminist like me, can make it tough to dodge duties unsuited to the squeamish. In my case, squirrel removal.
Like most people, I prefer my squirrels outdoors. So I wasn’t exactly pleased when a squirrel decided to invade my turf. One morning last winter, when I was barely awake and shuffling down our basement stairs, something with a bushy tail flashed past me, mere inches from my toes. So I ask you, what’s a feminist to do? Yell hysterically? Scream for help? Well, … yes. I also scrambled up the steps, slammed the door, and told myself the squirrel would find its own way out.
For the next few hours I wondered what my squirrel was up to. I even tried to talk myself into marching downstairs and facing him down. Or creeping downstairs and checking things out. Or opening the cellar door just a crack, peering down the steps, and shutting the door fast before the squirrel became suspicious.
What kind of feminist was I, I asked myself, as I paced a floor above the intruder. Surely Gloria Steinem would stand her ground against a tiny rodent. Thank goodness I wasn’t famous enough to be a Rush Limbaugh target. “Femi-Nazi hypocritical wimp Madeleine Begun Kane is ascared of a wee little squirrel,” he’d surely say if he knew I existed. … (A Squirrely Lesson is continued here.)
UPDATE: Happy Squirrel Appreciation Day, January 21st!
“I’m not going in there. No way. Forget it.”
My seventy-something mother’s stance was as rigid as her words; arms folded across her chest, unyielding legs pointed away from the shop I’d just suggested.
She and I had spent the entire afternoon combing through three department stores for the definitive pair of panties. Or at least my mom’s idea of same. This illusive undergarment had to be loose, comfortable, 100% cotton, and totally devoid of lace. And that was just for starters. It also had to completely cover my mother’s hips and come in a large size, the exact number of which she resolutely refused to disclose. … (Secret Shopper is continued here.)
A weekend trip is a splendid way to replenish your energy and deplete your bank account. In theory, such journeys should be preceded by thorough research, careful planning, and intense negotiations with your mate. Sounds a lot like work, right? Which is why so many vacations go something like this:
(1). Become increasingly exhausted and overwrought. Bicker with spouse over nonsense. Make up, bicker some more, and decide you both need a vacation. Agree to plan a trip for just the two of you real soon. Fall asleep fantasizing about a work/child/pressure-free orgy of self-indulgence.
(2). Repeat Step (1) many times during the next few months. Repeat it several times more … leaving out the sleep part. (How To Plan A Trip is continued here.)
Planning a vacation can often be a daunting challenge. Especially when one spouse likes to rough it and the other prefers luxuries like toilets, showers, and cable TV. So what’s a couple to do? Well, they can take separate trips. Or they can negotiate and sign on the dotted line.
AGREEMENT, entered into this _________, 20__ by Husband and Wife.
WHEREAS, Husband’s ideal vacation requires hiking boots, compasses, sleeping bags, and knapsacks and doesn’t cost a dime;
WHEREAS, Wife’s ideal vacation requires a five star resort;
WHEREAS, Husband is a spontaneous kind of guy who likes to pick his trips by throwing a coin onto a trail map; … (Taking A Vacation On The Contract Plan is continued here.)
I should put my local tow guy on a yearly retainer. Here’s a typical conversation:
Me: Hi, it’s me, Madeleine Kane. Guess whose husband left the lights on again. My address is…
Tow Guy: Still have you down from last week. Have you considered our frequent user plan? … (Tow Guy Blues is continued here.)
Do you and your spouse argue about how to spend your spare time? Togetherness can be tough to achieve when a couple’s interests just don’t jibe. But this contract may be just the cure for your spare time blues.
AGREEMENT entered into on _____, 20__ between opera-buff Wife and sports-fan Husband.
WHEREAS, Husband has been badgering Wife to attend a ball game for as long as they’ve been married, and he has never managed to reach first base;
WHEREAS, Wife has been pressuring Husband to go to the opera for years, and Husband is running out of excuses; and
WHEREAS, Husband and Wife know that if they don’t resolve this soon, each will be attending all functions solo.
NOW, THEREFORE, the parties hereby agree to the following spare time terms:
1. Wife will attend one ball-type game, the selection of which shall be in Husband’s sole discretion, and Husband will attend one opera performance, the selection of which shall be in Wife’s sole discretion. In exercising such discretion, both spouses will keep in mind that divorce lawyers are really expensive … (Sparring Over Spare Time is continued here.)
Tubing — the masochistic act of hurtling down a fall-fraught river while clinging to an inner tube. Somehow my husband Mark talked me, a devout wimp, into trying it.
Why did I go along for the rocky river ride? Perhaps I was dazed by the beauty of the Catskill Mountains’ Esopus River. Perhaps the brave (or foolish) teens who plunged heedlessly into the Esopus shamed me into it. Or maybe I was feeling guilty for being a perennial naysayer. Whatever the reason, one summer day I broke my first rule of survival: If they advise helmets, avoid it.
Before risking the river we signed a paper saying our survivors couldn’t sue. Then Mark paced while I interrogated the clerk about safety. Jagged rock protection was high on her (and my) list. Sneakers for the feet, a helmeted head, and plywood in the tube to protect the tush.
After a short, steep bus ride up river, the driver said “Just throw your tubes into the river and get in.” He pointed towards what looked suspiciously like waterfalls.
Foolish me, I’d assumed there’d be an attendant to provide advice, guidance, and moral support. And to hold the damn tube in place long enough for me to lower myself onto it and grab its pathetic excuse for handles. At the very least, they could have posted a sign saying, “Start your death ride here.” … (Tubing Blues is continued here.)
Mad Kane (Madeleine Begun Kane) is a writer, musician, and "recovering lawyer." She won the Robert Benchley Society Award For Humor and enjoys writing limericks, song parodies, and current events haiku.
You can email her at madkane@madkane.com, visit her political humor blog, or stop by her home page.
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