it’s called sympathy

Lying in bed and not feeling well, I moaned to Mr FD that “my life is shitty!”

“Yes,” replied dear heart, “and if you lived in a shed, it would be sheddy and if you lived under a tree it would be shady.”

And if I had a different husband?

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8 thoughts on “it’s called sympathy

    • have to agree with Hangaku. Use the sharp end then demand a tray of buttered toast, tea and posy of flowers from the garden. Men! tch

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    • I instructed him the other night that if the unthinkable ever happens and I predecease him, when he is giving my eulogy he is not to “yes, well, she may be dead but my stomach hurts, I have a head ache and an ingrown toenail” as he always seems to turn it to him somehow!

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  1. Hello.. When I cannot get through.. if I am too tired or whatever to explain.. when the reasonable Tony.. who knows it is rarely personal.. cannot take his speaker box.. I walk.. I play music.. I write.. if none of that works I sleep by whatever means necessary and sane.. Peace Tony

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