Lord of the Manor

By D.L. Stewart

The woman who promised to love and honor decides that we need a lamppost in our front yard.

"We're the only ones on the block without a lamppost in our front yard," she points out. "How are people supposed to find our place at night?"

"Simple. Tell them to look for the only house on the block that's dark," I reply.

"What about burglars? What's going to happen if a crook comes along some night when we're not home and finds the place all dark?"

"I know exactly what's going to happen. He's going to take three steps into the yard, fall over a big wheel, land in a pile of bikes, get up, twist his ankle on a soccer ball, and catch it right in the throat from a badminton that hasn't been put away since Lyndon Johnson."

"Okay," she concedes, "I really think we need a lamppost in our front yard, but if you don't want one, I won't push it. It's entirely up to you. I'll go along with whatever you decide. You are, after all, the lord of the house and the king of the castle."

"It's nice of you to be so understanding. I guess I could consider putting one in sometime."

"Good. It's in the garage."

"What is?"

"The lamppost. I bought it three days ago."