I usually don’t complain a lot. When I do I get caught in some dilemma that I can’t talk my way out. You think I would learn my lesson, but I’m still in the learning curve.
It was a long week, and the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage and I had a busy schedule. She went her way, I went my way and the Spousal Twain only meets after the week’s work is done.
Some weeks are better than others, but some aren’t. And I was having a rather dismal week with a few things going wrong. For one, my vehicle needed to go to the garage to be fixed.
I always fear taking my truck in for repairs because it usually ends up costing more than expected. However, this week, when I went to pick up my vehicle, it was only 1/3 of what I thought it would cost. I was happy. After all, who wouldn’t be happy?
I drove home in time for supper, and the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage had a wonderful supper prepared for us, and we enjoyed our time together. I am a little careful because she has a way of sneaking in vegetables that I don’t recognize.
After supper, we took our coffee into the living room to watch a little bit of the news. That is always the wrong thing to do, and you would think I would know it by this time.
If there’s anything positive on the news, it has something to do with this coronavirus. I’m a little weary of that.
Watching the news, my wife could see that I was getting a little bit agitated. I don’t always get agitated, but when I do… I do.
“What has you all worked up,” my wife asked?
I was afraid to respond to that question. I have learned that every time your wife asks you a question, there is an agenda behind the scene that you can’t see. I was afraid I was being set up or something.
Finally, I broke my silence and said, “I’m rather tired of all of these crazy politicians who don’t know their right hand from their left hand, except when they stick it out for donations. I’m tired of these crazy politicians being on television! Why can’t they go to the principal’s office like I had to do so often when I was in grade school?”
I tried to keep my rant as short as possible. I had a lot more that I wanted to say, but I was a little frustrated, so I tucked it in the back of my brain. Incidentally, there’s plenty of room back there.
When I quieted down, I heard some chuckles across the room. I looked in my wife’s direction, and there she sat giggling and chuckling and having a great time of it.
“What’s so funny?”
She just looked at me and continued giggling and then finally said, “Don’t you know that those crazy politicians get paid for being crazy. The crazier they are, the more money they make.”
Then she broke into one of her hysterical laughters.
“Don’t you,” she said between giggles, “wish you were that crazy?”
I had to think about that. I never thought of that before. But, as usual, my wife is right. I wish I could get a job where I didn’t have to do anything and get paid 100 times more than I’m worth.
“If you want to make money like them,” my wife said rather soberly, “you will have to be just as crazy as they are.”
That’s a very good thought. Maybe I ought to look into this situation a little closer.
“That’s why you don’t have much money,” my wife explained, “you are not crazy enough!”
That was a surprise coming from my wife. I thought she knew how crazy I really was. But then I got to thinking. Perhaps she is right after all.
“Where do you suppose they get all of their craziness?”
Again, my wife chuckled and looked at me and said, “Because they have no idea what they say from one day to the next. They live in a bubble and have lost a sense of reality in this world of ours.”
Again, she was spot on about this craziness in politics.
“They don’t live in the real world,” my wife began to explain to me. “They live in a world of their imagination, and their imagination creates a spirit of craziness.”
“So,” I said to her, “if I’m going to get paid for being crazy, I gotta quit living in the real world.”
“Now you got it,” she replied.
I got it, but I’m sure not going to get it. Getting paid for being crazy means that I have to live in a bubble and not the real world, I wonder if it’s really worth it?
Maybe being poor and sane is the better alternative.
I must confess that there are moments when I am tempted towards craziness. Then, I watched some politician on television giving a speech, and I realized being that crazy is worth it for me.
How much money would be worth becoming that crazy?
I then thought of a verse in the Bible. “Whoever loves money never has enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income. This too is meaningless” (Ecclesiastes 5:10).
Being crazy isn’t worth all the money in the world.