I am a rebel; a wild child spinning out of control, running free. You can't stop me. You are not my boss. You cannot make me. I live life on the edge. That is my philosophy and don't try to change me. I rebel in many ways.
The people who refine and sell oil for my car and yours, advocate that we change the oil in our cars every 3,000 miles. Why? It is the way they make their money. It is no wonder they urge us to comply with their recommendation. I won't do it. My research reveals that noted and respected scientists and manufacturers state with certitude that with the cars of today and the high quality of oil it is not necessary to change oil until about 10,000 miles. That is my position and some times I fudge on that. But I am a rebel, you can't make me.
I estimate that I have 700 plus or minus volumes in my library. BW is always nagging me about it. She has several as well. Her philosophy is: After we read a book we should either give it to the library book sale or someone else. How often do you reread a book? This coming from a person who readily admits that after she reads a book she often forgets what it is about and sometimes rereads it. What a deal. She could buy about six books and just read them over and over again. That would save money except we buy most of ours at the library sales anyway. A frequent mantra from her is, "I can't remember if I have read this or not. In places it seems familiar but I can't really tell."
I do not espouse her position. I like to keep books. Who does she think she is, Marian the Librarian? She can't stop me. I am a rebel. As Tess says to Audrey, "You are not the boss of me."
BW likes pillows on couches, chairs, beds and the roof. I made that up about the roof. I hate them. I do not know what to do with them. She has about 17 on our bed. At night I take them off and in the morning she piles them back on. When I make the bed, seldom, I just throw them on "willy nillly" not caring how they land. Not BW! They must be carefully placed. But I am a rebel, you can't stop me.
We have a silverware tray in the kitchen cabinet. It has two sections for forks and two for spoons and one for knives. BW insists that the smaller forks go in one slot and the larger ones in the other slot. Likewise she insists that the spoons be separated the same way. I say that takes too much time and effort, therefore I just randomly toss the forks in their two allotted slots and the spoons similarly. The other day she pulled me over to the drawer and talked to me as If I was in kindergarten, "The baby forks go in this slot, the Mammoth Momma forks go in that slot, the teeny tiny 'poons go in this section and the Big Poppa spoons go in this section. See? Now is that hard?"
I bit her on the knee.
Larry grew up north of Calvertville on a farm and graduated from Worthington High School and Indiana State University. He can be reached at Goosecrick@aol.com or (317) 839-7656. He has written five books.