Home | Bike Week | The Java Connection | Lee's Tattoo | The Love Plant | Skin Deep 4 | Skin Deep 3 | Skin Deep 2 | Skin Deep | Gone Astray-4 | Gone Astray-3 | Gone Astray-2 | Gone Astray 1 | Twisted Tail | The Big Day | Bed Bugs | Running on Empty | My Runner's Keeper | Dress Whites and Other Plauges of Mankind | Motorcycle Rag | Bewildered | Hen Pecked | Call me Sherlock-page 1 | Hail the Conquering Hero-Sort Of | The Mission | This and That | About Me | My photo album | When Fail Safe Wasn't | Contact Me

Chip Morton's Journal

Hen Pecked

Sometimes I wonder about Lee. It’s not that he doesn’t have success with the ladies. But why he’s put up with Lola Hale off and on and off and on again and again is anyone’s guess.

Oh, she’s nice enough to me, to Nelson, to the staff, etc. And she looks good too. But she’s become a bit of a nag toward him. I can understand her getting upset when their plans or rather when her plans go astray, but cheech, he’s a sub commander and a secret agent, not to mention being a SEAL and God knows what else he is with the Navy, so  what does she expect? He doesn’t have a 8-5 job! He’s 24/7 365 days a year. We all are, at least those of us assigned to Seaview.

Lee’s actually started to look  haggard, and contrary to what the crew thinks, it’s not all due to all of the time he must be spending in her bed (or his) when he’s on leave. And it’s not as if they’re really exclusive, though she sure has begun to act like it. Maybe he  is considering taking their relationship to the next level. But I sure don’t like the idea. He’s already on a short enough leash with NIMR and the Navy. He doesn’t need another tied to her!

Speak of the devil, she came by today, upset that he was late for their picnic lunch. When I told her Lee was on the boat ‘where a good Captain should be spending his time’, I thought she was going to fling the picnic basket at me. Instead, she dumped  the basket on my desk and told me I could have it then and that if this was the way he was going to treat her, then he’d better not plan on La Perla tonight (I haven’t heard about that flick, I wonder if it’s a foreign film, though I’d prefer a western.)

Well, I was torn. Should I upset him even further from her wrath or give her time to cool off. Should  I enjoy the repast of  fried chicken, cole slaw and what looked like homemade brownies or take the picnic basket down to the boat?

Later  when Lee joined me in my office, brownie crumbs on my chin and fried chicken bones on my desk, he paled and leaned on my desk for support.  

“Oh gawd, I’ve done it again haven’t I?” he moaned.

“Looks like it,” I belched. “You know, that fried chicken was really good. Old Hale family recipe?”

“KFC. That’s what she’d planned on anyway.”


“Anything else I should be aware of?” he gave me his ‘command’ glare. Too bad he was so rumpled and smelly from playing with his toy boat’s innards that it lost it’s impact.

“Oh, you mean this?” I held up the last brownie.

“You should have called me and told me she was here,” he pouted.

“I was trying to protect you. She’d have flung the basket at you and you still have stiches from that soufflé dish.’”

That was an accident.”

“Yeah sure…besides, bro,” I smirked, “If you’d really wanted to keep your lunch date you wouldn’t have forgotten, would you. You sir, are the epitome of the hen pecked husband, without being one officially, that is.”

 “Chip,” he said after a moment, “what am I going to do? I think I love her…but she…well…damn.”

“Here,” I handed him the brownie. “I think you need this more than me.”

“No, you go ahead.”

“Oh yeah, there is something else. She said you could forget about La Perla. I’ll watch it with you if you like.”

He gave me a strange look then said, “It’s not a movie…you sure she said La Perla?”

“Well that’s what it sounded like…hey, where’ you going?”

“Never mind, ”he flashed me a grin and suddenly looked  years younger, almost like a mischievous schoolboy up to no good.

 While I finished  my brownie, he hurried to his office, collected his car keys and in minutes departed, yelling on the way out that  he didn’t want to be disturbed for the rest of the weekend, come hell fire or the President, which ever came first.

Well, that could mean only one thing. Should I have called him back to tell him he was still all sweaty and stained and in no condition for any kind of reconciliation with his ball and chain?