BERRY: The truth behind the prose

Hi. This is Amy Berry, Grant Berry's wife. After Grant finishes writing his column each month, he always lets me read it for approval and editing.
Aug 7, 2014

 

Normally, he does a pretty good job of getting his facts straight — but this column was so full of inaccuracies, I took the liberty of changing a few details and sending it to the Tribune editor without Grant's knowledge. I told him his column was just fine the way it was and he bought it. (FYI, my corrections are in parentheses.)

I was offered a new job last month and, after talking it over with my wife, Amy, I accepted the new position and quit my old job. I can't tell you what I'm doing now because it's a top-secret government thing. (He works at the butcher shop in the bright orange building in Spring Lake.)

My new job requires me to work on Saturdays, so sadly (happily) I had to miss a camping trip last weekend with my family. (Grant hates camping and getting dirty.  He's such a sissy.)

I hated (loved) missing out on a family outing with Amy's mom, sisters, brother-in-law, and nephews and nieces. I was lonely and sad for four days without my wife and kids at home (don't be fooled, Grant enjoys his solitude). But the duties of my new job were too strenuous (he could have gotten the time off if he'd asked).  Therefore, I spent the first two evenings occupying my time with household projects I'd been putting off (he watched baseball and drank beer). 

(There was no evidence of any work being done around the house because there were no hammers, nails, caulk, screwdrivers, nuts, bolts, spackling particles, wood shavings or sandpaper dust lying about for me to clean up when I got home.)

The first evening alone, I searched the refrigerator, freezer and cupboards for food and came up almost empty. Amy and the girls had taken all the potato chips, trail mix, bagels, cheese, lunchmeat and bread. All I could find to eat that first day was two freezer-burnt chocolate chip waffles, some bread & butter pickles, and a handful of stale saltine crackers with peanut butter (OK, that part is true).

I was so tired (lazy) that I just went ahead and made a meal out of that odd assortment of food (I know this part is true because the wrappers, crumbs and empty jars were all over the counter when I got home). The only one I had to talk to was the cat, so I gave her an extra helping of Friskies on a saucer (my good saucer) and felt like she was the only one in the whole world who loves me (the cat doesn't love anyone; and, apparently, I am the only one that washes the cat's dishes because there were eight of my good saucers lined up on the kitchen floor when I got back). 

The next night, I bought a pizza and got three meals out of it (this is true because three plates were lined up on the kitchen counter with an empty pizza box stacked on top of them). I also drank a couple of beers each night to take the edge off my loneliness. (There were 14 empty beer bottles on the kitchen table — 14! Nobody is that lonely.)

Finally, on my last night alone, some friends invited me out to listen to a local band and hang out. I won't tell you where we met up, but we drank a few hard ciders and enjoyed a cool, calm, summer evening (a friend sent me a text message that night saying she saw Grant getting loud and stupid and buying shots for complete strangers).

On the last day of their trip, my dad called and invited me to the car show in Grand Haven. Of course, I went even if it meant I didn't have time to clean up the house before my family came home. I got home from the car show at the same time that my family got back from camping (he actually got back right after my car was unloaded).   

I was so happy to see my family, I hugged my children and listened intently to their stories of campfires, s'mores, bike rides and bee stings (true).

My wife, Amy, had never looked better to me than that weekend with her dark skin, bright blue eyes and kinky blonde hair. She looked like a goddess that had just been lifted from the sea (very true).

And Amy was so happy to see me, she didn't even care that I left the house such a mess. She just went right to work cleaning it up (that man is in such denial, he's just lucky I love him so much — that's all I've got to say).

— By Grant (and Amy) Berry, Tribune community columnist(s)

 

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