Thursday, April 10, 2008

Lies... I Mean "Fibs"... We Tell Our Husbands

I'm fortunate that I'm married to a guy who supports my horse habit. He is definitely a keeper, but that doesn't mean that he didn't have to undergo some training and re-schooling. He had to make room for a continuous cast of assorted horses over the years. And he had to accept my penchant for barn clothes and my lackadaisical attitude about wearing my "outside shoes" inside the house. Nonetheless, I have to occasionally tell him some little white lies in order to keep the peace. If you're a horsewoman married to a not-so-horseman, you understand what I mean. For example, I've become quite talented at telling my husband things like:

"Oh no, Honey, this is the same western saddle I've had for years. The conchos just look really shiny because I polished them last week."

"Of course I didn't clean my tack on the granite counter top. Those are drops of olive oil."

"This pair of boots? I had to get them because my other boots weren't made for wearing spurs. These are special boots, the kind you can put spurs on."

"I don't know how the corral gate got broken. Again. There hasn't been a horse in it all day."

"No, this silver headstall wasn't expensive. I got it on ebay."

"Hoof prints on the lawn? Huh. I have no idea how they got there. Maybe the neighbor's horse got loose."

"That dirt on the kitchen floor? The dog tracked it in."

Besides my impromptu fibs, I've also been known to spend hours tinkering around with the horses, then fly into a state of panic when I glance at my watch and realize it's about time for Ron to come home and I haven't made the bed or done the laundry. (It's only fair that I do some household chores). I can whip those sheets and blankets into crisp order in about 30 seconds! And don't tell anyone, but there have been times when a load of already clean clothes has been spun around in the dryer once again just so it sounds like I've been slaving away with the brights 'n whites.

Luckily I don't have kids who rat me out. My friend Susan has a 10-year-old son. She often gets sidetracked with her horses and neglects her housework until her husband pulls in the driveway. Last week her son announced to him as he walked in the door, "Mommy just got done making the bed."

Thank God my dog can't talk.


Are you guilty of fabricating some horse-related fibs every now and then? Share them or any other comments by clicking "comments" below.


Anonymous said...

The statement lackadaisical attitude about wearing my "outside shoes" inside the house... describes me to a tee! I'm forever forgetting to take off my boots especially if I'm to grab something out of the house quickly and run back down to the barn. My poor long-sufftering husband is forever sweeping up after me. Ain't our husbands sweet?

Anonymous said...

Not that I have a husband, but I hope that when I do, I land one that's as sweet as your's and puts up with my horse habits.


Anonymous said...

I jnow what you mean when you say thank God the dog can't talk i come in the house all the time and blame the dirt on the dog.

Anonymous said...

Just curious,but how old is your beloved Wally?

Cindy Hale said...

Yes, I am the Dirt Bag Queen. I'm the one to blame for making my Neatnic Husband live in what he often describes as a "dust bowl."

As for the question about Wally's age: Wally is 6. Or maybe 7. I'll have to look at his papers... which by the way, I have yet to transfer into my name. I'm sure the APHA loves me and my lack of bookkeeping skills. Oh wait. I have to transfer Wyatt's papers into my name, too. *sigh*