The better-half knows I'm lazy

I used to fight it and try to look busy, feigning ambition when I had none.

Whenever I was asked what I was doing I would reply appropriately.

“Oh, I’m getting ready to do this or that,” I would say, even if I had been caught in a stupor, staring into space.

If I couldn’t pretend to be doing something productive at least I could pretend to be planning something of worth.

Then we bought the cabin and I discovered the patio. It’s the perfect spot to indulge my slothful ways. Under a broad expanse of roof, it’s open on three sides and offers a wonderful view of the lake and all that goes on there.

I can sit and nurse a cup of coffee or a beer, listen to the birds, and watch more ambitious folk across the way launch their boats and mow their lawns.

The patio is shaded by a couple of large elms that also hide me from my industrious neighbors. Nobody can see how lazy I am.

Except, of course, my wife. She’s always known. I can’t hide it from her. But if I’m quiet and well-behaved, she doesn’t mind, at least until it’s time to go fishing.

“Get up,” she’ll tell me. “Let’s go.”

I’ll stumble to my feet, wipe the slobber off my chin and try to look like I wasn’t sleeping. The dock is downhill from the patio so all I have to do is step off and momentum carries me to the lake.

Fortunately for me, my wife’s favorite method of angling is to troll. So once we get our lines in the water there’s little to do but wait until we get bit. I sit at the helm and watch the sonar, following the contours of the lake I expect the fish to also be following.

On occasion I doze off, a warm breeze and the slight rocking of the boat luring me into unconsciousness. Sometimes we hook a fish and the commotion wakes me. Other times Barb does.

“Were you sleeping?” she’ll ask, which I always deny.

I’ve gotten quite adept at sleeping in an upright position, one hand on the wheel. With my shades on it’s difficult to tell I’m not awake until I stray off course.

“Where are you heading?” Barb will ask as the boat nears the shore.

Oh, I’m sorry,” I’ll reply. “I was planning something of worth.”

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]