Salty Sal

What a week-end!  My 'ol man was sicker than a dog from Friday night through Sunday night.  Coughin' and hackin' and wheezin' like an old geezer.  And you know how men are. Seriously, is there anything more pathetic than a sick man?! He put on such a show   that I made a phone call to Frieda, our insurance lady, just to make sure the life insurance was paid up. The farthest the 'ol man got this week-end was the trips from his recliner to the bathroom to the bedroom and back to the recliner again.  When I'm sick, the household runs as usual.  Oh sure, I moan and groan and whine, but dinner still gets put on the table and the laundry is folded.  Now my 'ol man, he pitifully lifts his hand and asks me to hand him the remote so he can switch back and forth from reruns of  "The Parent Trap" to reruns of  "Hee-Haw".  Good grief.  I have work to do.  Frieda assured me the insurance is paid in full, so life goes on.