Falsely Accused!
reverendhornibastard
Depraved Deacon of Degeneracy
For no particular reason, today I recalled when, many years ago, I got into some really deep shit with Mrs. Hornibastard #1. What made it so annoying and memorable was that, (1) the evidence against me was very damning, (2) I had no plausible explanation for the blatant evidence against me; and (3) I knew for certain I had done nothing wrong (this time).
I had gone on a totally unexpected business trip to D.C. the day before. But once I was finished with business, I made every effort to come home right away rather than go shopping for toiletries, a fresh shirt, boxers etcetera and spending the night in D.C.
I arrived back home in the wee hours the next morning. I shed my clothes, had a shower and crawled into bed with Mrs. Hornibastard who was sound asleep.
Despite my very late arrival, I got up early the following morning, dressed and went to work before Mrs. Hornibastard awoke.
When I came home that afternoon it was clear that she was really pissed off about something but she wouldn’t say what it was.
I soon got tired of her unexplained moodiness and demanded that she tell me what the fuck she was in such a snit about.
She disappeared into the laundry room and returned with the white shirt I had come home in very late the night before.
“What is this?” she hissed holding out my shirt to reveal a huge red stain on the lapel of my white shirt. It looked like a woman with way too much bright red lipstick had wiped it all off on the front of my shirt at chest level.
There was no doubt in my mind why she was angry with me. But I had no earthly idea what had caused the stain.
Under the circumstances (and due to my many recent indiscretions), saying “I don’t know what that is or how it got there” was totally unconvincing.
I could say nothing to appease Mrs. Hornibastard or allay her concerns.
A very frosty night ensued in the Hornibastard household.
At the office the next day I saw my secretary preparing my expense report. This was in the old days when we had paper airline tickets rather than electronic tickets. If you remember those old paper airline tickets, you might recall that many of them had red carbon backing.
I picked the ticket off my secretary’s desk and examined the red carbon backing. I had flown back to Houston with that ticket in the inside lapel pocket of my jacket. The red carbon back must have been sticking out and rubbing on my white shirt all the way back from D.C.
I asked my secretary to make a photocopy of my ticket. When I took the original instead of the photocopy she protested, saying she needed the original to submit with my expense report. But I told her I needed the original more than she did and promised to return the original the following day.
That evening, when I showed Mrs. Hornibastard #1 the air ticket with the red carbon backing and explained that I had traveled home from D.C. with that ticket in the inside lapel pocket of my suit jacket, the look on her face made it immediately clear that she was relieved and that she fully accepted my explanation.
She forgave me.
A good wife always forgives her husband when SHE is wrong.
I realize that makes little sense. But if you are burdened with two X chromosomes, it evidently makes a lot of sense.
I had gone on a totally unexpected business trip to D.C. the day before. But once I was finished with business, I made every effort to come home right away rather than go shopping for toiletries, a fresh shirt, boxers etcetera and spending the night in D.C.
I arrived back home in the wee hours the next morning. I shed my clothes, had a shower and crawled into bed with Mrs. Hornibastard who was sound asleep.
Despite my very late arrival, I got up early the following morning, dressed and went to work before Mrs. Hornibastard awoke.
When I came home that afternoon it was clear that she was really pissed off about something but she wouldn’t say what it was.
I soon got tired of her unexplained moodiness and demanded that she tell me what the fuck she was in such a snit about.
She disappeared into the laundry room and returned with the white shirt I had come home in very late the night before.
“What is this?” she hissed holding out my shirt to reveal a huge red stain on the lapel of my white shirt. It looked like a woman with way too much bright red lipstick had wiped it all off on the front of my shirt at chest level.
There was no doubt in my mind why she was angry with me. But I had no earthly idea what had caused the stain.
Under the circumstances (and due to my many recent indiscretions), saying “I don’t know what that is or how it got there” was totally unconvincing.
I could say nothing to appease Mrs. Hornibastard or allay her concerns.
A very frosty night ensued in the Hornibastard household.
At the office the next day I saw my secretary preparing my expense report. This was in the old days when we had paper airline tickets rather than electronic tickets. If you remember those old paper airline tickets, you might recall that many of them had red carbon backing.
I picked the ticket off my secretary’s desk and examined the red carbon backing. I had flown back to Houston with that ticket in the inside lapel pocket of my jacket. The red carbon back must have been sticking out and rubbing on my white shirt all the way back from D.C.
I asked my secretary to make a photocopy of my ticket. When I took the original instead of the photocopy she protested, saying she needed the original to submit with my expense report. But I told her I needed the original more than she did and promised to return the original the following day.
That evening, when I showed Mrs. Hornibastard #1 the air ticket with the red carbon backing and explained that I had traveled home from D.C. with that ticket in the inside lapel pocket of my suit jacket, the look on her face made it immediately clear that she was relieved and that she fully accepted my explanation.
She forgave me.
A good wife always forgives her husband when SHE is wrong.
I realize that makes little sense. But if you are burdened with two X chromosomes, it evidently makes a lot of sense.
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