All The Wrong Moves

J-Fed should have been a football player. Maybe he is by night. I can almost picture him out in the garage, armed with a white board and washable marker, sketching the many plays that will make him victorious day in and day out. If there were a Super Bowl for ineffectiveness, he’d be wearing the ring. Or not, since he no longer even wears his wedding ring.

Point being, he makes all the wrong moves in my book. Here’s the rundown…

THE PASS -- J-Fed has mastered The Pass. This is where I ask him to do something that's his responsibility, and in true J-Fed fashion, he passes.

"J-Fed, would you like to let the dogs out to go to the bathroom?"

"I'll pass," he says.

"J-Fed, how about going and picking up some dinner for us?"

"That's okay. I'll pass."

And so it goes. J-Fed can toss out the old Pass at any given moment, and once again Kiki is left carrying the ball.

THE FAKE –- This is the one where he offers to complete a task with due diligence yet never manages to seal the deal. The Fake can apply to almost any duty that needs to be done on a daily basis. For example, as I go to feed the dogs, he stops me in my tracks, removes the bowl from my hand and swears that he will take on the responsibility. An hour later, the bowl is still sitting on top of the container of dog food. Two hours later, still there. Three hours later, Big Boy has almost completely gnawed off his right paw out of hunger.

Another fine example of The Fake usually applies to trash detail. As I drag the jam-packed bag of refuse out to the garage, he greets me at the door and snatches the bag from my hands. “I’ve got it,” he proclaims as he motions me back inside the house. I give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s facing east, and that’s the direction where the trash goes out. And his feet are moving forward. Yet somewhere between the final step I witness and the following morning, the bag of trash has moved no more than a foot, and that I surmise is probably at the helm of the creepy crawlers living in our garage.

Hell, he may not have fed the dogs but at least he fed the mouse, the possum, the cat, or whatever the hell risked its little life to climb into our garbage bag.

The Fake is only outdone by what I like to call The Longshot. This is J-Fed’s all time favorite move. We can be getting along smashingly, and then he pulls The Longshot.

“Kiki, what do you think of me starting a racing team and you’re the sponsor!”

“Kiki, I’d love a new go-kart for Christmas.”

“Kiki, let’s rent a space shuttle and take a trip to the moon this weekend!”

Ok, so maybe I only imagined the last one, but in reality I’m all too familiar with THE LONGSHOT. With The Longshot, J-Fed knows there is no way in hell it’s going to happen, yet he throws it out there just to get a rise out of me. Then when I explode and crush his “brilliant” idea into a million, zillion little particles he looks at me like I just told him that the tooth fairy isn’t really going to put a six-pack of fraps and a carton of newports under his pillow when one of his fillings falls out.

Maybe it’s time I start making my own moves, like the fumble. That will be the one where I go to cook, clean, pay bills, give baths, and suddenly drop the ball. Hopefully, J-Fed is as good a wide receiver as he is a running “away” back.