If my column isn’t particularly funny this week, I have no one to blame but my wife.
I have always depended on Mary Ellen to in some way annoy, befuddle, confound or mock me, thus leading me to my inevitable outburst: “That’s my next column.”
Mary Ellen has been a trouper. She has complained about my napping, my sense of direction and my messiness. She’s told me how scatterbrained I am and how sloppy. Every week I depend on her. She is my rock. She is the well I go to when I need an idea.