By Matt Anderson
Hello readers! I’m Uncle Matty, here for your help, but please be advised to swim at your own risk. I am not a doctor, therapist, lawyer, or man of the cloth. My professional certifications are limited to slinging cocktails and umpiring. If you have serious medical, financial, legal, or faith-based questions, please seek more appropriate help.I am guilty of making many questionable life decisions. The hope is to pass along my hard learned wisdom so that my mistakes are not replicated. For so many reasons, it maybe difficult to ask for advice, whether it be from close friends or relatives. So, if you have nothing to lose, why not ask Uncle Matty?
For the first few columns, I have solicited questions from friends and family.
Uncle Matty,
My wife usually falls asleep (I don’t) when we watch a movie or tv show together at night, and then she gets mad at me if I don’t want to replay it (because I just watched it!). What should I do?
Anonymous
P.S. You still owe me $5
Dear Anonymous,
I think we’ve all been there, except possibly my uncle Sven, who’s been unlucky in love because he works so much running the herring cannery. Thankfully, he’s always had his roommate Bill to keep him company. Such good friends, they seem to do everything together!
Anyway, I understand your struggle. My lady friend Doris (from the cleaners) and I enjoyed nothing more than to snuggle together and watch reruns of “The Rockford Files,” over at her Aunt Gert’s place, where she stayed. Doris was an unsung beauty, and no one looked better in men’s Carhartts. A kind woman, she always had a covered dish for sick neighbors.
“The Rockford Files” was a favorite of ours, and the sight of Jim Garner in a brown blazer was usually enough to start the fire for Doris. To my misfortune, she often fell asleep mid-show. An accomplished hunter and trapper, with the nose of a bloodhound, Doris was an early riser because she liked to check her traps before work.
One night, instead of turning off the tv, giving Doris a blanket and going home, I stuck around and kept watching while she slept. While Doris was snoring like a cartoon bear, Aunt Gert asked me to come downstairs because she saw a big spider. When I got down to her basement bar, the spider was gone, and Aunt Gert was pressed next to me in her housedress with a pitcher of stingers, French-inhaling a Salem Light 100.
I should have done the right thing, which would have been to pause the show and gone home. Doris deserved better. Instead, Doris no longer talks to me, having smelled the intoxicating blend of Aunt Gert’s stingers, Salem Lights and witch-hazel on my favorite Hawaiian shirt when I dropped it off at her cleaners. I’ll always appreciate the time we spent together.
Pause the show, then turn to The History Channel or a ballgame.
P.S. I don’t owe you $5, that last putt was a gimme.
