RANDOM REMINDER

Press, Volume CIV, Issue 30794, 5 July 1965, Page 24

RANDOM REMINDER

LOGIC

There is a certain stage in every marriage at which the husband has to make up his mind, or have it made up for him, about how many of his bachelor activities he can continue. He finds it pleasant, after the first flush of racing home to the little woman at 5 p.m., to join a group of his old friends for some stimulating conversation, and drinks, after the day's toil. If she is not keeping the dinner waiting, and if he takes her too on occasions, little harm is done. He can keep up tennis in the summer and golf in the winter, especially if she has some interest, and proficiency, in these sports. But the wife who fails to draw the line at football after marriage is a rarity. She may have stood up to her ankles in mud watching him play before and after the engagement; but she rapidly develops an aversion for the game after

marriage. If he persists there are Words; and be will find she has somehow forgottern to wash his shorts and jersey or to dam his socks. This sort of cold war gets colder during the winter months: and though he may forget all about it when the season is at last over, she most certainly has not. We know of one man who continued to play football for four seasons and two babies after his marriage. She had tried hints, persuasion, encouragement, dog box etc—all to no avail. And as the fifth season came round her determination grew. She complained about the state of the house and section and intimated that there could be no football until all was tidy. He scurried about He dug the garden mowed the lawns, repaired two fences, clipped the hedge and replaced six sheets of iron on the roof, She said it would

be nice if the roof could be printed before winter. He bought wire brushes, paint and a brush and climbed on to the roof next Saturday morning with some urgency since practices began on the following week-end. He looked down from the roof a few minutes later and saw a chilling sight She was standing by the chopping block. His footboots were on the block. And she had the axe in her hand. Did he intend, she asked, to continue playing that boy’s game this year? He said he hadn’t made up his mind. She said she could do that And she swung the axe on high and brought it down squarely across both boots. She said, with deadly logic, that if he decided not to play, he wouldn’t need the boots. And if he did, there were no boots. As simple as that