Last night, Mrs. Polisher proved that again. It ain't easy living with a crusty old fart like me. Don't believe me, just ask her. I can be a real pain in the ass when I want to -- even when I don't. But Mrs. P has put up with me for more that 20 years now. Through the early years when I didn't have two pennies to rub together. Through the years when I took this crazy game of TV too seriously. Through the dark months after Hurricane Kartina when I lived every horror story I covered.
Through the missed meals, dates, holidays, and anniversaries that go with this goofy line of work. And late arrivals at the boy's baseball games. The nights alone while I was on a private jet winging my way to and from football games. The endless assignments that canceled trips to see the folks back home.
And after all of that, she still puts up with me. Some days she even likes me. And she shows it through the little things she does. Cooking dinner almost every night. Washing my smelly clothes after a day chasing calamity. Dragging the little loaf-pinchers to-and-fro. And thinking of me even in the most peculiar places.
Yesterday I came home to another one of those little things that remind me how lucky I am.
With SwampAss Season under way, here's hoping the STW in your life can find an industrial sized bottle of Anti-MonkeyButt powder of your own. I ain't sharing mine. It's special.
