A friend told me that his wife, Ann, was fussing at him about some issue when he bravely told her, “Now just you remember that my Mom lives only a mile across the river and she can still make mighty good biscuits and gravy!”

I experienced something similar recently. Please allow a bit of background. Most everyone likes my wife, Janice, but she can be fiery, especially toward me. She tells me that I am intelligent but that I do not have much common sense and that I do not know which end to hold a screwdriver, that I can’t see road signs nor read a road map and on and on and on. And she is mostly right!

And, I am an early riser, usually around 5:00 AM, and spend two hours or so checking the weather, drinking two cups of coffee and, and reading the newspaper. On this particular occasion Janice was sleeping longer than usual and my stomach began to growl. Hesitatingly, I crept back into the bedroom to see if there was anything wrong with my dear wife of 46 years.

As I gazed at sleeping beauty, she opened one big doleful eye, then two. What I said to her defies good sense! I know better! Oh what trouble our tongue can get us into! “Janice,” I began timidly, “When I was growing up, my Mother usually had breakfast on the table when I got out of bed!”

She threw back the bed clothes, her eyes flashed fire like a medieval dragon, and grabbing her robe from the bed post, she marched into the kitchen like a majorette. Her words dripped with sarcasm and vitriol, “I suppose your Mother slopped the hogs, milked the cows, and heated water for outdoor washing with firewood which she chopped with her own calloused hands, also before breakfast!” I nodded my head affirmatively and meekly replied, “Yes, she did.”

My humble attitude must have been like pouring gasoline on a fire, for she slid my bowl of oatmeal down the breakfast bar, it stopping only inches before going over the edge, and she disappeared in a huff back into the bedroom.

Three days and three nights I spoke only to my dog, Birdie, and my cat, Eagle, and they seemed none too friendly, apparently sensing that I had offended the one who takes care of them. Finally, overcome with boredom from having no one with whom to converse, I proposed, “Janice, let’s kiss and make up!”

Swift came a sharp reply, “The kind of kiss you are talking about—You don’t kiss your Mother that way!” I knew she was right again and retreated into the deep freeze for another two days.

Then, she was driving me to an appointment with a physician, and I thought she will have to talk to me or wreck the car, so I said, “Thanks for driving me to the doctor.”

Again, she was ready with an answer as though she had mentally anticipated and rehearsed her reply, “That’s what any good mother would do!”

I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw an impish grin slightly curling her upper lip and I sighed, realizing that winter was thawing and spring was not far behind!