My Wife Gets Some Work Done

My wife insisted on getting some work done. I tried to talk her out of it, but to no avail.

“What if you lose that special¬†combination of features that I find so appealing?” I asked her.

“I’m doing this for me, not for you, buddy. You never look at me anymore anyway.”

She used a clinic in Omaha, which her sister swore by, having had a lot of work done there herself. My wife was away for a month, visiting all her family members in the area while she was there.

Before she left for Nebraska, I warned her that if she went through with it, I was going to have some work done too.

“Go ahead,” she said. “It can’t make your face any worse.”

I came home from work the day she got back and found her in the kitchen. She faced me with a smile.

“What do you think?” she said.

“Not bad,” I said.

I unbuckled my pants and dropped them.

“What do you think?” I said.

She let out an ungodly shriek and took a step back.

“Get that thing away from me!”

A Trial Gone Wrong

Monday: You know that woman who killed her child but the jury let her go? Rumor has it that they’ve moved her¬†into the empty repo at the end of the block.

Tuesday: No sign of the press, which is good. Of course, all the kids on the block have been forbidden to go near the murderess house. Folks walk their dogs on the other side of the street. I may walk past later.

Wednesday: The mailman says she doesn’t take in her mail, which is all junk anyway. He says he won’t deliver any more till she takes it in.

Thursday: She doesn’t water the lawn or anything. No car. Mrs. Jones says that she thinks her cat may be missing but isn’t sure. Mrs. Ramirez says she thinks she heard a scream in the night.

Friday: Rumor has it some kids snuck over and peeked in the windows of the murderess house last night. It’s vacant. I guess she moved out.