To Be Married

Last weekend my Grandma, a woman very dear to my heart, passed away at the age of 88. Her funeral was that Thursday, so I of course didn’t update as per schedule. Though it’s without a doubt the saddest thing to ever happen in my life, I want to remember the good times rather than the last moments. The following story is true!! My grandma and grandpa were married nearly 60 years and it’s a miracle nobody died of natural selection. Though there are many tales I could tell, this is probably my favorite.

I hope it amuses you at much as it does me.


It was a bright day without a cloud in the sky. Donald walked outside into the back lawn with his morning coffee and surveyed his land. His wife, Leona, walked past him dressed for a relaxing morning hanging laundry, basket and pins in hand.

“Are you going to paint that chair you’ve been talking about for the past week?” She smiled up at him.

“You bet,” he said, sipping his coffee with a determined look. “I’m going to use up the rest of that old paint. You’ll be knitting in that chair by tomorrow, mark my words.”

“Have fun.” Leona waved over her shoulder as she headed to the clothes line.

Finishing his coffee Donald stepped back into the house. A month ago he bought a nice old rocker from a friend; a new coat of paint and it would be good as new. Dressed in his oldest pair of overalls he walked back to the shed where the chair waited. Pulling from one of the many overflowing, but neatly organized, shelves a can of black spray paint he gave it a few good shakes. Pulling off the cap he held it a few inches away from the wood and pressed down on the nozzle. Nothing happened. He pressed down harder and nothing happened. He shook the can a few more than a few more times and pressed again, yet still nothing.

Examining the can he found the nozzle caked with hard paint from inactivity. “Hmm,” thinking up a simple solution to a simple problem he headed back to the house with the spray can, waving to his wife as he passed. Walking into the kitchen he headed to the stove and turned it on to a mild 350 degrees. When the preheat light dimmed he opened the door and quickly placed the spray can on the top rack. Figuring ten minutes would be more than enough to re-liquefy the hardened paint he set the timer and stepped outside onto the front porch, the day’s sun far too nice to miss out on.

Leona hummed quietly to herself, focused entirely on hanging her wears here and there until an explosion from the kitchen that rattled the windows set her flat on her feet and running into the house. “Don?” She called out, the usually calm woman letting panic slip into her voice. Her eyes landed on his figure standing just inside the frame leading into the living room. Relieved her husband seemed fine Leona’s eyes gradually took in the rest of the room.

Black paint covered everything. Her refrigerator, her cabinets, the table, the windows; black splatters of paint lent a macabre feeling to the once cheery room. Her stove’s door lay broken off its hinges in the middle of the floor where a small scrap of metal that once was a spray can lay dead.

Her expression said it all. Looking at her husband Leona struggled to utter an appropriate sentence through her rage. “You will buy me a new refrigerator.” She said through gritted teeth and turned away, stomping out the back door.

Donald looked around the once clean, yellow tinted kitchen and sighed deeply. Gingerly he stepped forward just enough to reach his car keys from the wall-peg they hung on. To the hardware store it was. Tomorrow would have to wait it’s turn.      


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