Read and heed . . .

Ever so often a woman rearranges the furniture. She can go six month or six years, perfectly satisfied, but all of a sudden the family finds it is pushing furniture around the rooms, and before the mood has passed the entire house is switched around and, depending on her mood, there isn’t one stick of furniture in the same place it was a few hours before.

It can be dangerous. Once there was a couple in my neighborhood, and as they’ve now moved out of the State, it’s safe to tell.  It was supposed to be a secret,  but his wife thought it so funny she told one person, and soon, it was such a good story, everyone  knew what happened, and the tale probably got better with each telling.

But the man came home quite late after a ‘business’ meeting and decided it’d be best to be quiet and not waken his wife. Probably a bit of libation at that ‘meeting’, but just the same, after a quick raid of the refrigerator, he  turned off all lights, doffed and hung his clothes on a hook in the bathroom, softly entered his bedroom and made a quick dive for his side of the bed.

And then all helly broke loose.  For some reason his head smacked into a chest of drawers and, in the ensuing melee, he thrashed his arms and legs into  tables, chairs and lamps which seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Quite naturally, it scared his wife who jumped up screaming, switched on the lights and what do you know?  It was no robber, but her husband lying down on the floor trying to figure out whether he had the wrong house or if some of those drinks had been laced with dynamite.

It was neither one, it was just that his wife had changed the furniture.  His aim had been perfect for where the bed had been, but was miles off from where it was. Just draw the curtains on the next scene, but by all reports,  his wife won the match.

The desire to move furniture comes at strange moments and hit me about 2:00 a.m. one night.  The full moon shown like midday and I knew I was awake, with not a chance of dropping off to sleep.

So, as I glanced around the room I suddenly saw there was a different way to arrange the furniture, and it seemed so great, and being awake, I asked myself, Why not? and in a trice I was up and at it.

I closed the blinds, for after all, I was in my night shirt, and soon I was pushing and pulling away at chests of drawers, dressing table, lamps, chair and bed. 

Believe it or not, I did it, and it was such a good arrangement that I kept it that way for a long time.  But, anyway, by the time I finished, I was not only awake, but hungry.  So, I took off to the kitchen, prepared a meal, heard the  morning paper hit the porch, and so I took both breakfast and the paper back to bed with me. I looked around, admired my work, and then ate, sipped my coffee, and read the news.  But by then I was sleepy so I turned off the lights, tossed tray and papers to the floor and went to sleep.  I’d earned it.

Yeah, women . . .  all women . . . at some time want, no simply MUST  move the furniture, and any husband or handy male is just lucky if they don’t get caught up in the whole thing. But just the same, it’s best to let the family know what you’ve been up to.  The wrong timing can be pure ‘murder’, and the man who ‘accidentally’ hit his own bedroom, but at the wrong time,  was never allowed to forget the escapade, either.  In that respect he was glad when they moved to California.