Have I been listening to a “Sir Rant” this week, or what?

He’s trying to be very good, and has gone back to his diet – upon which he did so well last year but had a small lapse – and I think the lack of carbs, sugar and everything else that brings him joy has gone to the old noggin.

The Blonde Duffer, his bridge partner from Oregon, on the other hand, eats like a small horse. She, I believe – as I am yet to meet her, but can’t frankly wait for the moment – is a thin person (I’ve cleaned that last bit up for this periodical who can obviously eat anything and it goes to everybody else’s hips. Olive Oyl on speed.

So I heard a one-sided conversation the other day, and finally got to the bottom of it. Sir was there at his computer, playing the aforementioned bridge game, whilst rationing his 100-calorie pack of something vaguely resembling sweet to 1.25 bites per three and a half minutes so it lasted him the game.

She, on the other hand, told him she had already scarfed down the chocolate ice cream sundae, followed by the cheesecake, the bowl of chili, the pheasant under glass, the Godiva Chocolate Pyramid, the cat’s food, the sandwich and the strawberry malted – all washed down with 93 cups of coffee – in the time it took her to bid a slam in spades.

I’ve suggested she might like to see the doctor, as I’m convinced she must be rocketing across the floor on her bottom as she absolutely must have worms. I’m dying to meet her and to speak with her husband, the Patster, to see if this is indeed true.

Backtrack a couple of weeks, and Sir and I visited the Sprint store off U.S. 40 to say faretheewell to our old cell phones which had become too long in the tooth, and to sign up for new plans and get new phones.

Dawna and Kristle were fabulous, and helped us through the maze of Cell Phone Purchase 101-102, and Cell Phone Rebates (Advanced).

But a week later, Sir decided he hated his new phone, and, having found a client who indeed serviced said phones, was convinced we’d bought potential lemons.

With the 30-day exchange guarantee, back we manfully strode to the store to change our phones to the models his client suggested were just the trick.

As positively delightful as we are, I think I can say without fear of equivocation, that we are not the easiest of customers. Well, I will immediately correct that and say that Sir is not the easiest. I am indeed the original Cream Puff Customer, for all the blustering I may do in front of the mirror, I am a pussy cat and will relent at the merest puff of wind.

So we changed our phones, again with the immense good humor and patience by Dawna and Kristle. To me, a phone is a device I need to answer when it rings and to make the odd phone call when needed. To Sir, his needs are identical to mine, so long as it does a Samba when it rings, and so his battery lasts approximately forever, and that it does windows and dishes.

Now backtrack a little more. Remember a couple of weeks ago Sir had his new golf toy, a GPS gizmo for the golf course that tells him how far his ball is, say, from the White House. Now keep in mind, in just two weeks, he’s had two new cell phones. And a Golf Buddy.

This, unless my math has let me down, equates to three instruction manuals at once, none of which being read by Sir at any given time.

So it was with a tad of trepidation when I actually heard his tears of laughter plopping on the floor some three floors below me the other night.

I naturally – as you would – thought we had a burst furnace or a foofer valve or the sump pump, so rushed downstairs.

There he was with more gadgets than you can poke a stick at, instruction books out the Yin-Yang, crying with laughter.

He was trying to get the absolute best out of his Golf Buddy – obviously doing the windows or dishes were not at all promised – when he read the bit about pushing the button on the left under the photo of the whale, next to the treble clef, and above the Presidential Seal, to get the voice-activation feature.

Well, he was flummoxed. He couldn’t find the whale, the seal, or any other aquatic mammal, and was totally stumped by a treble clef.

The penny finally dropped, as did his tears.

He was reading the instructions for the cell phone while trying to program his Golf Buddy.

“Honey? Let’s just go quietly to the kitchen, and I’ll get you some steak followed by some chocolate pudding. No, no, mommy promises. Everything will be OK. ”

Thank the Lord he wasn’t knee deep in instructions for a chain saw and a step ladder!