Bertram was a creature of habit. Every Tuesday, without fail, he’d “forget” to pick up his wife Agnes’s blood pressure medication, conveniently known as her “Rx RAGE!” Agnes, a woman whose calm demeanor usually rivaled a Zen master, transformed into a fire-breathing dragon sans scales. This Tuesday was no different.
“Bertram!” Agnes bellowed from the kitchen, her voice strong enough to shatter a teacup. “Did you get my Rx RAGE?!”
Bertram, pretending to be engrossed in a documentary about the mating rituals of Peruvian tree frogs, mumbled, “Oh, fiddlesticks! I completely spaced. There was… a sale on novelty socks! I got you a pair with little rubber chickens.”
Agnes emerged, eyes blazing. “Rubber chickens?! Bertram, I’m about to turn you into chicken feed! My blood pressure is practically writing its own novels at this point! Hubby OUT!”
Bertram, sensing imminent doom, scrambled for his car keys. “Right! Pharmacy! Be back in a jiffy! Before you can say… ‘hypertension’!”
He sped to the pharmacy, practically throwing the prescription at the bewildered pharmacist. As he waited, tapping his foot nervously, he noticed a sign: “Double Stamps on ALL Pet Medications Tuesdays!”
An idea, as brilliantly stupid as it was, sparked in Bertram’s brain. He bought a huge bag of dog biscuits, earning enough stamps to practically wallpaper the house.
He arrived home, breathless, presenting Agnes with her medication and a slightly smug look. “Ta-da! And look what else I got!” He gestured to the mountain of dog biscuits. “Enough stamps for… well, a lot of stamps!”
Agnes snatched the medication, popped a pill, and her fiery gaze softened slightly. “Stamps? What on earth for, Bertram?”
“Well,” Bertram stammered, “I thought… you could use them to mail all the strongly worded letters you write when I forget your prescription! See? I was thinking of YOU!”
Agnes stared at him, then at the mountain of dog biscuits, then back at Bertram. A slow smile spread across her face. “You know, Bertram,” she said sweetly, “That’s actually… surprisingly thoughtful.” Then, leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered, “We’re gonna need a bigger mailbox.”
