LEFTOVERS AGAIN?--REDUX

A  friend suggested that I re-publish this article from 2010;

                                            LEFTOVERS AGAIN?

Shortly after my wedding in 1971, one of my friends, thinking it would be a wonderful gag gift, gave me a copy of  The Total Woman. which was a book brought out as a polemic against "women's liberation";  basically, the book told women to be subservient to their husbands and to do everything to please them

As I read through it, one item piqued my interest. It suggested that one should wrap herself in Saran Wrap and lie waiting, seductively, on the bed for him to arrive home. I followed the instructions and there I was, lying on my side, wrapped in Saran Wrap, with my thigh posed at its most advantageous angle, and when he opened the door, he asked, "Leftovers again?"

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As a young bride I found it difficult to cook for just two people as I'd grown up in a family with seven brothers. My husband said that he loved meatloaf. There were obviously a lot of leftovers when I fixed a meatloaf;   I sent it for his lunch for several days. During those days, I also sent little "love notes" in his lunch box. Imagine my shock when I learned that my husband had traded his meatloaf sandwich for another guy's bologna sandwich. I asked, "Why did you trade your sandwich?"  He replied that he was tired of meatloaf after three days.

How did I know he'd traded?   When I was preparing his lunch box for the following day, I opened the sandwich container and found a note.  I learned that Gerald had handed his wrapped meatloaf sandwich (with a naughty note tucked inside) to Randy and Randy had opened the sandwich, read the note, and wrote a note in return saying that he liked the meatloaf and that he'd also be glad to oblige the request in my note!  I shrieked, "Didn't you know there was a note in there?"

He said, "You usually put the notes with the fruit, so I never give those away!" Years later, when I went to work at International Harvester, guess who worked for me? Yep, Randy, who never let me live down the meatloaf story!

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I would usually make homemade cookies for my Gerald's lunch box. My brother Neil worked in the same department and he felt free to go to Gerald's lunch box and take cookies. One day, I put Oreos in the lunch box as I hadn't made any cookies for that week. That evening, when I opened the lunch box, there was a note from my brother, "NO S. B. COOKIES!" I was relieved to learn that S .B. meant STORE BOUGHT!