Weekly Posting of the Conservative Cow Doctor


 Don’t Ask

The last time I offered marital advice, my thought provoking observation prompted a reader to thrash me in a display ad in the local paper. Leftists only tolerate ideas with which they agree, but since this citizen has relocated, I feel safe offering two more tidbits on trophy wife psychology.

Last Friday, just before lunch, I was rolling up our driveway when I spotted the trophy wife stomping towards me carrying a rope. From the way she glared at me, I knew our lunch break would be a less than conjugal visit. I quickly scanned the scene behind her so as to prepare a reasonable excuse should I need one. There was one partially competed swath encircling the yard leading to the tractor mower which was parked at an odd angle on the bank of the pond immediately behind a four-wheeler. “Don’t ask!” She barked and this quickly brings me to my first point. “Don’t ask” does not mean don’t ask, it actually means you better ask, but only after immediately apologizing without knowing why. (I do not make the rules; I just have them memorized.)

“I’m sorry; what happened?” I begged and this is what I learned. Early Friday morning I offhandedly mentioned someone should mow the lawn before we left for the GOP convention. To be helpful, the trophy wife attempted cut the grass, but found she couldn’t open the double doors on the storage shed due to a stubborn locking pin securing the inactive door. She walked to the garage for a screw driver and hammer and her enthusiasm for yard work dampened with each step. Fortunately for me, the lawn tractor did start.

Nearing the end of her first circle, the lawn tractor tires slipped down the muddy bank to the pond’s edge which drops into five feet of water; a testament to my industrious springtime pond cleaning efforts with my backhoe. Had the mower disappeared underwater, I suspect she would have left it there hinting some nefarious soul had stolen it from the shed during the night. Druann gingerly crawled off the mower precariously balanced on the pond’s edge, hopped on a four-wheeler and inched it close to winch the tractor from the bank. This is when she discovered the winch’s cable was wedged so tight she could not free it from the spool, which is when she learned that particular four-wheeler cannot be placed in reverse without a huge jerk on the shifter and her jerk wouldn’t be home for another thirty minutes. With only forward gears, she threw her 125 pound frame against the 688 pound four-wheeler to push it back far enough to turn around and tow the lawn tractor out of danger; a super human feat thanks to her attitude pegging the trophy wife ticked-off meter. After explaining her story, she hopped on the mower and cut the grass to her grand finale.

While turning on her last lap, she backed too close to the pond and stuck the rear wheels in the mud. With the wheels spinning and the mower blades screaming, the tractor was sinking deeper and deeper. I slowly approached figuring I could grab the front axle and jerk the mower to dry ground, but if my feet were to slip, the spinning blades would eat me alive. She needed to disengage the blades, but her ear plugs muffled my instructive hollering and this brings me to my second point. Under no circumstances is a husband ever to whistle to get his wife’s attention; another rule which makes no sense but is strictly enforced by my trophy wife.

Resembling redneck lawn charades, I made slashing motions across my throat, which prompted a creepy smile to break across her face, but I had to keep gesturing before she understood and hit the PTO button. With the blades stopped, I jerked the mower from the mud. End of story, so I offered my trophy wife a compromise. If I fixed the locking pin on the storage shed, the winch and the reverse on the four-wheeler, could I whistle at her when I needed her attention? After a lengthy discussion, we reached a compromise because in marriage both parties share the same harmonious goal; an arrangement not found in politics and this brings me to my final point.

For 100 years, collectivism has been the goal of the Democrat Party, while the Republicans support limited government. Battling from mutually exclusive foundations, compromise can occur only when one side surrenders, or the issue is of meaningless significance such as the designation of the state pancake. In my four terms in Montana’s House, compromise ALWAYS means liberal Republicans helping Democrats grow government because Democrats NEVER help Republicans advance liberty. This is an undeniable truth. I could give you specific examples, but am out of time because I need to mow the freaking lawn.

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