LIKE A BAD JOKE, IT'S NOT GOOD WHEN YOU HAVE TO EXPLAIN WHAT SHE JUST ATE

Because of Rosanne's delicate state of health I have the responsibility of all things domestic around the house and as a result of hard-earned experience I have all the respect in the world for my chief-cook and bottle-washing sisters and brothers.  Putting it bluntly: "T'aint easy McGee!"

Not that I look for pats on the back or compliments with every plate of food that I place in front of Rosanne.  The best I hope for, however, is that what I do place in front of her is recognizable --  either in appearance or taste and, sadly, such is not always the case.  Take this past Sunday for instance.

It is traditional for us to have bacon and eggs brunches on the Good Day but on this occasion I decided to change things up a bit, just as a surprise.  We enjoy toasted western sandwiches and I thought that wifey dear would appreciate something just a little different.  Only trouble was, I quickly remembered that I had used up our last onion the day before and that we did not have the green pepper that is so essential for Rosanne in all her Western/Denver sandwiches.

Time not necessarily being a factor, I took a quick trip to our local Foodland store to pick up the two required items along with a carton of Rosanne's favourite tangerine orange juice and some nice thick-sliced smoked bacon that I thought would be a good substitute for the cooked ham that is customary in all proper Westerns.

With a degree of satisfaction and pride I watched Rosanne out of the corner of my eye some 30 minutes later as she devoured her sandwich-and-a-half with what I thought was her usual gusto, but without saying a word.  "She's too busy enjoying it to comment," I reasoned.

The anticipation of a reaction was starting to get the best of me and in an effort to elicit something, I prompted:  "Did you enjoy your tangerine juice?"

"Yes, it was good!" she replied.  "But what was it that we just ate?"

I was immediately reminded of a few instances in the past where I had to explain a joke that I had just told her and realized that it is not good when you have to explain the punch line.  Certainly, it was not good that I had to explain that what she just ate was a Western sandwich, the only difference being that it had bacon on it instead of ham.

Sometimes a fella just can't win.

Next Sunday it's back to good old bacon and eggs, for sure.