Not My Fault

My wife and I were standing in line at Lowe's. The family in front of us included a guy who was dancing and wiggling back n' forth to the music in his head.

I'm a lumberjack and that's OK!

Plus, he was carrying long strips of plastic (baseboard?) on his shoulder. They bounced and swayed back n' forth while he did his crazy humming little wee-wee dance. He looked like a slapstick comedy routine about to happen, and my wife and I were in the slappin' zone.

As we stepped back, he glanced over and noticed my wife. "If I hit you," he politely said, "it's not my fault."

My wife glared at him. "Right," she said. "And if I kick you hard in the tenders, it's OK because I wasn't here at the time."

He stopped moving and glanced at me. I discretely placed my hands over my area and nodded. "She'll do it," my body language said.

He glanced at his wife for support. She glared daggers at him. "I'll let her do it," her body language said.

Eep!

He gulped and stood perfectly still.

Later I asked my wife, "You *were* bluffing, right?"

"Maybe."

I think she was bluffing. I hope she was bluffing.