You know how most couples complain that their spouse won’t listen to them, or that they can never get a point across? I’m one of them.
Every afternoon my hubby, Herbert, would come home from work tired and hungry. I’d fix him dinner and a drink, then spend the rest of the afternoon listening to him complain about the food.
“It’s too damn hot, woman.” He’d claim, raising a piece of meat to his mouth.
“It’s colder than ice!” He’d shout a few minutes later.
“What sauce did you use on this, poison?”
“Do you hear me? Damn it woman, am I not getting through to you?”
Every day the same thing, I got fed up.

One afternoon, I slipped a sleeping pill into his drink. The doc assured me it was strong enough to knock out an elephant, and he was right.
Ten minutes later, Herbert had fallen asleep on the couch. This was my chance. I took a needle and some fishing line and sewed dear Herbert’s mouth shut.
I wiped away the blood and washed as much as I could. Herbert woke up about nine hours later, not noticing that his mouth was shut until he tried to yawn.
He screamed, although it sounded more like a guttural cry. He ran to kitchen, where I was making dinner.
“Well, hello dear.” I said brightly.
He shouted incoherently, his mouth making noises like a wounded grizzly bear and his arms waving frantically like a madman.
“Oh, I’m sorry darling. I don’t understand. - I placed a plate of food on the table. – I cooked your favorite, pork chops!”
He shouted again, pointing to his mouth and then at the food.
“Hungry?”
He jumped up and down angrily, like an enraged pogo stick.
“Yes honey?” I asked in my sweetest voice.
He screamed again then crossed his arms over his chest.
“I’m sorry pumpkin, it seems we have some problems communicating, don’t we?”