Good fortune seemed to follow him.
Abe couldn’t believe that she agreed to go steady with him—a less than average Joe in every category—except for his undaunted willingness to turn himself inside out to please her.
Abraham Newman was such a sound sleeper that he could snore through thunder and lightning, the banging of pots and pans, and the ranting and raving of his wife, Evelyn.
At 6:15 on an August morning he was peacefully asleep when Evelyn finished another painting. It was indisputably ugly but she had no clue as to the reason. Furious about another defective creation, she swiped a big red X on it and pushed the easel into the corner. When Abe came down for breakfast, Evelyn was boiling over with enmity, ready to go to war at the drop of a hat.
As soon as he saw his wife, Abe smiled and kissed her good morning. “Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?” She pushed him away and smirked. Abe tried again, “Been up long? Working on a painting?” Evelyn was…