"Pray tell, dear husband?" my wife lovingly queried this very morning as I was eagerly preparing for a short jaunt to my favorite trout lye. "How can'st thou justify this frivolity when thou see'st that yonder grass and weed doth grow taller than the mighty oak, and hither, the fertile soil which will bear the fruit for winters' sustenance is sorely lacking of toil and sweat?"

"Dearest wife, love of my life," I patiently replied. "Doest thou not knowest that it is by the art of the angle that wise men become wise? Yea, only through the sacrifice and wearisome pursuit of the gill and fin may humble men acquire the strength and erudition to conquer all things set before them, in the earth and possibly the life to come."

Noting the remote glint of intrigue struggling unsuccessfully to hide behind the deep, dark, smoldering fury then radiating from my wife's excessively gorgeous eyes, I subdued the large lump of fear which began to well up in my throat. Thinking quickly, I decided I had better take a short pause to reflect upon the events which had led to my present situation.

First, I had asked my wife quite nicely earlier in the week, if I might embark on a short excursion this weekend. Her reply had been short and sweet. "Only if thou doest not value peace and happiness as thee have come to know them these past few years my dearest." Of course I do value the peace and happiness I have come to know the past several centuries through which I have been bound to my darling wife, so I opted to let her decision ride for a few days.

Near the end of the week I was growing ever more anxious for my weekend release, and so resolved to attempt a bolder approach. Protective clothing in place, I found my vision of lovliness in our den, which has been meticulously decorated in a late crusades, dungeon motif. She was painstakingly polishing the RACK, which is an exact replica of the kind used to assist thirteenth century, short heathens reach their full stature. Not wanting to startle my 'SWEETUMS' unnecessarily, I stealthily stepped to the opposite side of the room so that the guillotine hovered strategically between us. Then in my feighned, squeaky-submissive voice, I interrupted her thoughtful silence.

"Sunshine?, as you well know, I am Lord and Master of all I survey. This includes our castle, the surrounding gardens, and the out buildings which are sprawled artistically acrossed our vast, one eighth acre estate; right up to and including the cold, grey stone walls which surround and secure this haven of marital bliss." Watching carefully for any sudden movement, I continued. "As Lord and Master, I DEMAND the right to have at least a partial say in what I will, or will not do over the forth coming weekend!---- ---Okay sugar lips?"

Daintilly she laid down her polishing cloth, and in that delicate sweet voice I have come to know and love over the last several millenia of our happy union, she said, "Sugar Pie, thou indeed speaketh the truth. Yea, thou art Lord and Master. We shall converse at length on the subject of thine troutful pursuit later. Presently I needest thee to lie here on the rack so that I might make certain that the gears and pullies of this beautiful piece of antique memorabilia are in proper working order."

With all the vehement masculinity I could force into my voice, I roared, "Yes Puddin." --- Several hours later, still testing the pullies and gears, I began wondering if my sweet had forgotten me. Finally, just as I'd finished counting the marks on my personal growth chart for about the hundreth time, I heard the keys rattling ominously in the lock. My sigh was one of pure relief when the massive door creaked slowly open and I could see that it was only the butler bringing my evening meal. Since the butler is actually my eldest son trying to earn his way through grade school, I felt confident that I could pursuade him to assist me on my release. Several minutes and a small fortune in allowance increases later, I finally negotiated my freedom.

By now I was becoming frustrated by my darling spouse's adamant denial of my requested weekend liberty. I was going to have to put my foot down! --- I found her in the kitchen helping the maid, my daughter, with the supper dishes. "Fair Lady!" I bellowed, "I'm putting my foot down right here and now! You are just going to have to get a firm grip on reality, I WILL go fishing this weekend!"---

As quickly as I had spoken them, I felt the wrath of my own words. Only after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, was I able to convince my delicate vision of femininity to release her very firm grip on reality. -- I found it interesting to note, as I was thrashing about on the floor trying to breathe the bluish hue out of my lips, that I had not previously known that REALITY can in fact well up in my throat much the same way that fear often does..

So much for the direct approach, I'd just have to do what any other normal, red blooded, American man would do, ---- sneak out. I almost made it too, if only I wouldn't have hung up on the concertina wire over the back wall. The doctor says the scars will hardly be visible, and what the heck, I needed some new trousers anyway. Of course my SWEETIE PIE isn't exactly thrilled with the crimson stains on her shiny concertina wire but she assures me that with some detergent and elbow grease, I'll have it shining again in no time.

So then, there I stood, trying but failing to baffle her with brilliance. Suddenly out of nowhere, I was struck bluntly in the pit of my stomach with an uncushioned reminder that in fact today is the 15th anniversary of our marital joy and happiness. In the most romantic voice I could effect, between heaving gasps of pain, I said, "Silly Queen, doest thou honestly believe that I could actually forget the most important and happiest day of my seemingly eternal life? Of course I was planning to take you with me. How could I possibly enjoy myself fishing without your ever present guidance and helpful advise?" Again I felt that old familiar jolt in the pit of my stomach. Then she gently reminded me that she doesn't even care for fishing and most assuredly was not going to spend our anniversary wading some freezing trout stream.

Oh well, all was not lost. I spent an extemely wonderful evening in enjoyable relaxation at the opera, or was it the ballet? I always get those two mixed up. It was one of those super fun things anyway. Now, If I could just figure out how to loosen this wonderously creative knot my honey bunch so lovingly yanked into my necktie......