Posts Tagged ‘Husband Wife Humor’

Married To a Mush-Meister (Limerick)

Monday, December 26th, 2016

Hubby Mark savors films that are sappy,
And what’s crappy to ME makes him happy.
He’ll be glued to the screen
At the mushiest scene,
While I mentally keen, “Make it snappy!”

How I Met My Husband

Saturday, March 28th, 2015

My come-hither look
was all that it took.
Mark​ at first tried to book,
but returned … on the hook.

As Mark likes to say, true story:

Mark spots me, already seated, while he’s walking through a half-empty Long Island Rail Road car. I smile at him. He smiles at me. And then, instead of sitting across from me, Mark keeps walking and goes into another half-empty train car.

A couple of minutes later he rethinks this, turns around, comes back, and sits across from me.

Seven weeks later Mark proposes, and I say yes, wondering what took him so long.

(All this happened way back in 1977.)

The Almost Naked Truth

Tuesday, February 24th, 2015

I love this headline: “Mother, 29, who ran through hotel naked ‘after her friend stole her pants’ is slapped with an obscenity charge.”

Not only did it make me laugh, but it reminded me of my own personal experience, memorialized in this humor column I wrote way back in the Twentieth Century:

A Traveler’s Net Woes
By Madeleine Begun Kane

If your husband ever invites you to join him on a business trip, be sure to ask him these questions:
1. Will you ever get to see him while he is not — technically — asleep?
2. What will he do, if you accidentally lock yourself out of your hotel room in the middle of the night while you are not — technically — dressed?

Unfortunately, I didn’t think to ask these questions when my husband Mark invited me to join him for a six-week Boston business trip. So I had to learn the answers the hard way:
1. No.
2. He will remain — technically — asleep.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Back when my husband urged me to accompany him, all I could focus on was:
1. Whether I could pack my cappuccino machine;
2. Whether I’d get any writing done so far from home; and
3. Whether we’d have reliable net access in our room.

Okay, I admit it: I’m a little — okay a lot — hooked on cappuccino and the on-line life. And I never — ever — go to sleep without reading my email and surfing the web.

Anyway, Mark managed to convince me that working out of a hotel room in a strange city would inspire new, creative ideas. He also swore that Boston is a modern city with lots of cappuccino and Internet connections. So I reluctantly accompanied him, after packing enough gear for a year.

We checked in late that first night, and the accommodations (paid for by Mark’s client) were luxurious. But I gave no thought to our lovely hotel, the sites and sounds of Boston, or the excitement of living in a new city. While Mark unpacked, requested a wake-up call, and ooohed and aaahed at the view, I foraged for a modem connection. Only one view mattered to me — the blank one on my laptop screen.

Finally, I had the computer set up. I began to relax, happy in the knowledge that any minute I’d … What’s this? An error message? What did they mean “no dial tone”?

It must be some mistake, I told myself, as I tried to sign on again and again and again. After a dozen failed attempts I was even reduced to violating my “don’t crawl on a strange rug” rule. Struggling to reach the wall behind the desk and bed, I squeezed my arm into places it didn’t belong, pulling and pushing and tugging at anything that looked important. And trying to spot a loose connection … aside from the one in my brain.

Now a normal person would probably have given up and gone to bed after 10 or 20 or 30 failed attempts to sign on-line. (By this time, Mark had been asleep nearly an hour.) But the more disconnects I got, the more determined I was to access my net account. Am I stubborn? Yes. Plus I really needed my pre-sleep fix.

So I persisted, all the while cursing out computers, the hotel, my husband’s client, and my husband, who apparently enjoys having his bed shoved across the room while he’s sound asleep.

Then it hit me — the kind of revelation one only gets way past midnight. I’d simply phone the concierge, and he’d do some concierge type thing and get it fixed. So I picked up the phone and — you guessed it — it was as dead as my modem.

You moron, I castigated myself, as I tried to guess whether I was being personally singled out for email deprivation.

Just then, I heard a sound in the hall. Eager to find out if anyone else had phone service, and forgetting that my attire (or lack thereof) would get me arrested in many countries, I rushed out the door, wedging it open with a shoe. Luckily (I thought) the sounds were coming from the next room, whose door was ajar.

“Do you have phone service?” I asked a female guest, who was still gripping her luggage.

She didn’t answer. Instead she stared at me blankly, no doubt wondering why some barefoot, barely clad crazy woman was standing in her doorway at 3 a.m.

“Do you have phone service?” I repeated.

“No speak English,” she said, as she put down her suitcase and looked around the room, possibly for a weapon. Now desperate, I attempted to mime talking on the phone. But she apparently didn’t speak mime either.

At this point, I’m afraid I did something that can only be characterized as insane; I strode into the room, walked right past her to the far end, and picked up her phone. It was dead. This was good news, because you need a phone to get someone arrested for trespass.

I put the receiver down and belatedly began to apologize. But the woman ignored me — she was embroiled in some incomprehensible dialogue with a man (her husband?) who had apparently been in the bathroom when I invaded their room. Were they plotting my demise?

I crossed the room as quickly as I could and darted past them, hoping they wouldn’t try to stop me. And that they understood the meaning of the word “sorry.”

Finally I made it out of there, and they slammed the door behind me. Relieved, I turned toward my room and, after tripping over my failed-wedge shoe, I discovered another shut door — my own.

Ten minutes of door pounding later I was still stranded in the hall, and Mark (who can sleep through anything) was still sound asleep.

By now I was more or less resigned to going to bed without reading my e-mail. But no way was I sleeping in the hall.

I probably would have continued my futile pounding, but adding the crime of “destroying the peace” to trespass didn’t seem wise. And getting thrown out of the hotel probably wouldn’t help Mark’s consultant/client relations.

But what else could I do? I couldn’t very well take the elevator downstairs and beg the concierge for a key while I was dressed like this, could I?

Apparently, I could. I started down the hallway, moving as quickly as I could manage, and fervently hoping I wouldn’t meet anyone en route. Fortunately, every reasonably sane person was asleep by then. So the halls and elevator were empty, and I even made it down eight floors to the lobby nonstop. I was so relieved, I didn’t even mind the strange looks I got from the couple getting on as I got off. Or the amused grin from the concierge when I told him I needed help.

“Phone problems?” he asked, looking me up and down.

“For starters,” I answered.

“Sorry, everything’s down at least until late morning. Anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes, I locked myself out of my room. Could you…?”

“Yes, I can see you did. Hold on and I’ll get my keys.”

“This is very embarrassing.”

He took another look and grinned again. “No problem. I’ve seen a lot worse.”

Throughout the elevator ride up and the walk to my room he regaled me with tales of locked-out guests stranded in garb that made me appear ready for a full dress ball. Then he placed his key in the door and said, “Do you have any ID?”

“What?” I said, beginning to panic. “Where would I…?”

“Just kidding,” he said as he unlocked the door.

Safely back in my room, I found Mark sound asleep. Exhausted and angry, I stared at him, willing him awake. I could have been kidnapped from the room in the middle of the night, and he would never have known. I could have …

Suddenly, Mark sat up. “What is it?” he said.

“Didn’t you notice I was gone?”

“What are you talking about? One sec. I have to go to the bathroom.”

“What were you saying?” Mark said as he climbed back into bed.

“Never mind. But you should set your alarm. The phones are broken, and you probably won’t get that wake-up call.”

“Thanks,” he said as he fiddled with the clock and lay back down to sleep. “What did you do to their phones?” he added just before he began to snore.

Life With Mark Kane

Tuesday, April 29th, 2014

(All dialogue guaranteed true)

Mark: “Now that I’ve won, I can go to sleep.” (gazing down, admiringly, at his laptop’s “free cell” screen at 10 pm)

Me: “Remember that Walter Kirn book I mentioned the other day?”

Mark: “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” (still looking down)

Me: “The one about the impostor…”

Mark: “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” (still looking down)

Me: “I just started reading it.”

Mark: “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” (still looking down)

Me: “You’re not listening to me.”

Mark: “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” (still looking down)

Me: “I said you’re not listening to me!”

Mark: “Huh??? Yes, I am.”

Me: “What am I talking about?”

Mark: “Uh…”

Me: “Remember? The Kirn book? I was telling you about it the other day.”

Mark: “Oh yeah.” (surreptitiously typing.)

Me: “You’re looking up “Kirn” in Google aren’t you?”

Mark: “Of course not! I remember you talking about Bruce Kern.”

Me: “I’ve never even heard of Bruce Kern. Stop trying to cheat with Google.”

Mark: “I’m not trying to cheat.”

Me: “Yes you are. I’m talking about WALTER Kirn’s book about the Rockefeller impostor.”

Mark: “Oh, yeah. Jay Rockefeller and the Hamptons.”

Me: “No! “CLARK Rockefeller. Driving a crippled dog from Montana to Manhattan.”

Mark: “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Me: “I give up!”

Limerick Affairs

Thursday, June 10th, 2010

I hope you’ll join me in writing a limerick with this first line:

A fellow who had an affair…

Here’s mine:

Limerick Affairs
By Madeleine Begun Kane

A fellow who had an affair
Got caught by his lovely wife, Claire.
She considered divorce —
Took a far diff’rent course.
Now her spouse does not live anywhere.

Please feel free to write your own limerick using the same first line and post it in my comments. And if you’re on Facebook, I hope you’ll join my friends in that same activity in my Limerick-Offs.

The Tenor Of Our Anniversary

Saturday, June 5th, 2010

My husband Mark and I had a wonderful time celebrating our 32nd wedding anniversary on Friday, June 4th in Manhattan. We saw a Broadway play — Ken Ludwig’s hilarious Lend Me A Tenor, which was directed by Stanley Tucci. (There’s more about the play in my two-verse limerick.) We also dined at Nocello and enjoyed attempting to dance the rumba at the Marriott Marquis’ Broadway Lounge.

And now, my limerick:

The Tenor Of Our Anniversary
By Madeleine Begun Kane

Hubby Mark and I partied last night.
(It’s been thirty-two years of delight.)
Saw a great Broadway play.
What a heavenly way
To celebrate marriage just right!

Shaloub and LaPaglia star.
(Both are Tony’s — you know who they are.)
Justin Bartha stars too.
We kept laughing on cue
At Lend Me A Tenor. Har, har!

Chick Flick Flack

Sunday, October 7th, 2007

Chick Flick Flack
By Madeleine Begun Kane

When a film’s called a chick flick, it’s meant
To appeal to most women. How bent!
I’m a gal through and through,
But those flicks make me boo,
While my husband applauds. What a gent!

(You can find more of my marriage humor here and my feminist humor here.)

Motor Boating Just Isn’t Our Speed (Humor Column)

Tuesday, June 5th, 2007

My husband Mark and I were never meant to own a motor boat. Why not? Any couple who can’t figure out how to open their car hood, should probably stick to something propelled by oars. And we surely would have done just that, had the prior owner of our weekend home not made it a package deal. If we wanted his irresistible house, we’d have to spring for his 120 horse power boat — perfect for anyone whose idea of relaxation is charging across a rocky three mile lake at the speed of screams.

OUR FIRST TIME OUT: My husband — a man who can build a wood stove fire in a flash, who whips up gourmet feasts in fifteen languages — couldn’t figure out how to unhook the boat’s cover. Refusing my help, he struggled for an hour. Victorious at last he hurled the cover off, in the process spilling gallons of water all over the boat.

By then I was ready to bail out. But Mark handed me a pail, and we spent the next 45 minutes heaving water overboard. Once all the water was safely under the boat, it was time to begin boating. I optimistically climbed onto our 16 footer, while my husband worked the knots from ashore. A former boy scout, he did this rather well. So well, that the boat (free at last) started to drift without him. ….   (Motor Boating Just Isn’t Our Speed continues here.)

Sleepless In Geekdom

Friday, April 20th, 2007

Early in our marriage, my husband Mark worked as a computer programmer and was on over-night call:

Sleepless In Geekdom
By Madeleine Begun Kane

My husband’s a super-smart geek
Who’s on overnight call once a week.
And those questions they pose
After wrecking our doze
Sound, to me, much like Latin or Greek.

UPDATE: Happy International Programmers’ Day, January 7th!

And happy Geek Pride Day, May 25th!

A Rueful Rhyme

Monday, March 19th, 2007

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.” 

Taxing Times

Friday, March 16th, 2007

Taxing Times
By Madeleine Begun Kane 

My husband Mark and I usually prepare our joint tax returns jointly. Being good citizens, we begin early in February with tax planning discussions like this:

Mark: We really should start doing our taxes next Saturday.
Me: You’re absolutely right. I’ll pick up Quicksand’s ShirkoTax this week.

By late March we’ve made impressive progress:

Mark: We really should start doing our taxes next Saturday.
Me: You’re absolutely right. I’ll pick up Quicksand’s ShirkoTax this week.

Our tax planning culminates promptly on April 14 when Mark boots up the computer, loads ShirkoTax, and does whatever it is one does with tax software. … (Taxing Times is continued here.)

It Is Hereby Resolved (New Year’s Resolution Humor)

Tuesday, December 26th, 2006

What is it about December 31st that spurs fantasies of self-reform? Is it too much food and drink? Seasonal exuberance? Lunacy induced by crowds?

Every December, otherwise rational people make resolutions meant to transform them into organized, addiction-free souls with clean houses, healthy bodies, wholesome relationships, perfect children, and career paths soaring to the top — the same vows they made last year and the year before that.

Can our resolutions endure past January 1st? Can we make it to year’s end without ripping up our lists? … (It Is Hereby Resolved is continued here.)

Mad Gift Giving Guide

Tuesday, December 5th, 2006

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.)

Office Party Follies

Monday, November 6th, 2006

There are few “fun” activities quite so vexing as the Office Christmas Party; that obligatory gathering of bosses and subordinates, cronies and rivals, back-stabbers and back-stabbees. Plus a horde of husbands and wives who spend the entire night planning their escape.

Every year you fantasize about sending an RSVP marked “Thanks, but no thanks.” Then you return to reality and break the news to your spouse. “It’ll be different this time,” you lie. “It’ll be fun.”

“I’ll go to yours, if you’ll go to mine,” your mate responds. “And you have to promise to behave.”

This brings us to the art of gaffe avoidance. After all, who isn’t but one faux pas from the unemployment line? Dodging the pitfalls of office party protocol can be a daunting challenge. But with the help of this agreement, you’ll survive yet another function with your job intact.

AGREEMENT entered into on ____________, by Husband and Wife (collectively referred to as “Couple”).

WHEREAS, Couple’s employers suffer from the delusion that Office Christmas Parties are good for morale;

WHEREAS, Couple, being sane individuals, would prefer to stay home; and

WHEREAS, although Couple can’t prove a connection, everyone who skipped last year’s bash is now unemployed; … ” (Office Party Follies is continued here.)

A Squirrely Lesson

Thursday, October 26th, 2006

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!

How To Plan A Trip (Humorous How-To)

Thursday, September 14th, 2006

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.)

A Traveler’s Net Woes

Tuesday, August 8th, 2006

If your husband ever invites you to join him on a business trip, be sure to ask him these questions:
   1. Will you ever get to see him while he is not — technically — asleep?
   2. What will he do, if you accidentally lock yourself out of your hotel room in the middle of the night while you are not — technically — dressed?

Unfortunately, I didn’t think to ask these questions when my husband Mark invited me to join him for a six-week Boston business trip. So I had to learn the answers the hard way. …

( A Traveler’s Net Woes is continued here.)