The Devil and Mrs. Reddick

So, I got up yesterday morning with my day all planned out. First I was going to apologize to my children for jacking their Halloween candy and admit to them that I had a problem so we could begin the whole healing process. Then I planned to spend the morning working on some posts for the upcoming week, and if I had any of the morning left, I was going to spend it wasting a little time on Twitter and Facebook.

In the afternoon, I planned to grade papers and plan for the upcoming week. And for the evening, I planned to drink a couple of tumblers of scotch while finishing a book I have been desperately trying to finish for the last two weeks. Sounds like a good day, doesn’t it?

Well, the morning went perfectly. I got a few posts together and connected with a few people on Twitter and Facebook. But as I was transitioning between Twittering and Facebooking to grading papers and planning, I decided to go into the kitchen to get me a refreshing beverage. That’s when I say it lying on the counter.

I saw my name at the top of the paper, so I went over to get a closer look, only to realize that it was a honey-doo list, and my plan for the day did not include any of the tasks on that list. My day was being hi-jacked! And just then I heard a familiar voice in my ear. I knew the voice because I have heard it often before. It was the voice of the devil. And for those of you who are curious, he sounds a whole lot like Pat Buchanan.

So then the devil starts in on me: “Who she think she is? She can’t do this. She can’t plan Max Reddick’s day for Max Reddick. Only Max Reddick can plan Max Reddick’s day. Go ahead. Tell’em why you mad, son!”

And foolishly I agreed, but just then I spotted her and the kids coming down the hall, so I put my game face on. However, she completely disarmed me with her sweetness:

“Max, I know you are busy today. And I know you already had your day all planned out, but I really need your help. I need to take the children to pick up a few pieces of winter clothing—it’s supposed to get cooler next week—so if you don’t mind, could you please help me by performing the few tasks on this list. Thanks.”

With that she kisses me on the cheek. She doesn’t play fair at all.

So, a couple hours later I’m on my hands and knees in the shower sweating like a slave amid all kinds of noxious fumes while cleaning the grout with a toothbrush when the devil makes another appearance.

“Look at you down there on your hands and kneess like a common servant. You work too hard to spend your Sunday afternoon like this. You need to put her in her place. Tell’em why you mad, son! Tell’em why you mad.”

Then the devil left to get pen and paper so I could make crib notes of what I should say when she got home.

So, when she and the children returned, I was there waiting at the kitchen table. When I heard her keys in the door I quickly went over my notes so that I could get everything right. But she quickly disarmed me with kindness and a smile again as she came through the door laden with bags.

“Oh my, Max. It smells so clean in here.”

I looked at my notes once again. “Don’t come in here trying to be all sweet. I got a few things I need to get off my chest.”

But she proceeded as if she did not even hear me. “And you did such an outstanding job on that grout. I can’t remember when the bathroom and shower has been looked and smelled this clean!”

She then moved in closer and whispered in my ear. “And I don’t even know my you even wasted your time putting clean linens on the bed. We’re just going to have to change them again in the morning. I hope you did not plan on going to bed early tonight.”

With that she kissed me right on top of my bald head. “What did you have to tell me, and what’s that in your hand?”

“Nothing dear, nothing I all,” I managed to get out right before I stuffed my crib sheet in my mouth and swallowed hard. Talking about eating one’s words.

It’s funny how things work out. One moment you are all preparing to do verbal battle, and the next you are chilling the wine, running bath water, and doing push-ups on the bathroom floor.

Later that night as I slept the sleep of pure bliss, the familiar voice returned to wake me from my sleep.

“She played you, son! She played you. You need to go ahead and take care of this because if you don’t, next week she’s going to pull that same foolishness.”

But I had come to my senses now. “Get behind me Satan. Get thee behind me!”

Just then my wife woke up. “Are you talking to someone? Who are you talking to? I thought I heard Pat Buchanan.”

“No,” I said. “I must have been just talking to myself. I must have eaten something spicy before I went to bed.”

Please, have a wonderful start to your week. And as always, love yourself and be a blessing to somebody. --Max