IWEIGH CLOSE to 200 pounds; the little woman tips the scale at about 120, and I am scared to death of her.

Winnie and I have been together for a long time so, usually, when I say something stupid—which is, by the way, quite often—she just rolls her eyes and tells me I’m an idiot. Sometimes, however, (and what makes my life dangerous is that there is no way to predict when this might happen), the little woman snaps, and my stupid comment sets off an estrogen fueled tirade. This makes for a really hard day for old Joe.

Every Tuesday and Thursday evening, the little woman puts on a workout costume and tells me she’s off to quilting class at the adult education center.

Two weeks ago, I asked a simple question about whether her favorite pink sweatpants had shrunk across the backside and the next thing I know, she muckles on to my wrist and I’m doing a mid-air 360 and landing on my back atop the kitchen linoleum while Winnie swears at me in Japanese.

Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any new quilts around the Wright household, but a white bathrobe, with a brown belt around it, did appear in the little woman’s closet recently. Is it possible they teach Jiu Jitsu at the adult education center?

I’ve never claimed to be smart and I’ve figured out that I seem to be missing that brain-tomouth filter which keeps most people from making the kind of insensitive remark that has, so frequently, led to a whooping for poor Joe, but recently I’ve had an epiphany. I believe that, on occasion, I’ve been poisoned.

Winnie prepares most of what I ingest and I’m thinking it might be more than a coincidence that, on several occasions, my misunderstood or poorly timed remarks have been followed by a two to three day period during which my activities were limited to things I could do while within thirty feet of a toilet.

I’m not concerned that Winnie would poison me to death. After all, I do take home a weekly paycheck. Furthermore, I don’t believe in life insurance. Let’s face it; a guy who’s prone to saying stupid stuff shouldn’t tempt fate . . . or the little woman.

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