The Story Of Noah's Wife


With all the rain and snow we have been having, it reminded me of a little story.

Noah's Wife

Sure, he gets all the credit, don't he?

I mean, does anyone even know my name?

It's Mister Noah this, and Mister Noah that, but read all you like, all you'll find about me is I'm "Noah's wife."

Noah's wife is it?

You mean the one what cleaned the house and cooked the meals and washed the clothes and took care of them little boys when they was sick, and had to answer to all them busy-bodies that kept coming around, while, all the time, he's out there just hammerin' and sawin' and clutterin' up the yard.

That wife?

Oh sure, I had my 15 minutes, you could say. I served on the committee to cull out all the Riff Raff, and decide who was going on the cruise. Problem was, nobody believed me when "I told ‘em they was all suspect under the rules of The Lord. I heard it crystal clear from the Source Himself. Nobody, including Garden Club members, was going to book passage with Mister Noah, unless The Lord Himself approved. I had a little influence with Mister Noah, and Mister Noah had a favor or two to call in, but in the end, if you was unblemished, you had a shot, otherwise, you needed water wings.

Being Noah's wife, I was the one who had to sit in the parlor mending sandals and cloaks while he had these long conversations with The Lord. Couldn't help overhearing some stuff, you know. The walls wasn't too thick in those days. Technical stuff, men stuff was what they talked about deep into the night, and I got the drift mostly.

You'd think they might have included me in the plan. Instead, it was, "Go round-up seven pair of every clean animal and two of every un-clean ones, and put ‘em in that giant boat I built." I mean, give me a break, why take along the un-clean ones, anyway?

But, "Yes Sir! Mr. Noah. Right away sir. I'm on it," was my respectful response. Six hundred years of married bliss had taught me to honor my husband. Plus, it's in The Bible somewhere.

Didn't matter about the clean and un-clean. After a while in there, they was all a mess. Clean ones, un-clean ones, who could tell? If you think for a minute I was goin' to crawl down there and examine every detail, you are terribly mistaken. We got seven pair of one and two of another in there, shut the gates and went up to the top deck for some air. No looking back.

Once we got underway, the cruise wasn't all that bad, I must say, and we all got along pretty well, as people without sin will do. The chores were divided up fairly equally, but stall-mucking seemed to come around disproportionally. There was some innocent confrontation about that, but being perfect in the sight of The Lord, we worked it out. Noah was exempt from heavy lifting, of course.

Most of the talk was about the smell! And all that bleat-in' and moo-in' and howlin'. And who needed nine pair of roosters a-wakin' you up every morning? All the talk was good-natured, naturally.

Finally, I'm here to tell you, when the time came it didn't take a minute for that boat to empty. It was "Open the doors and stand back!"

Plenty of land around by then, thank goodness; a little soggy in spots was all.

The amazin' thing to me was all that grass and them trees and flowers. They must have just - "swoosh" - popped right up.

Don't you know it, though; first thing Mister Noah does is plant him a vineyard.

(Wanna take a guess who planted the corn and taters and collards?)

Anyway, he gets him some grapes and makes him some wine, first thing - right out.

The Lord didn't know he was a drinker? Then he takes himself a nice long nap, wore out, I guess from stompin' grapes.

And could that man snore! Scared everything but the chickens (chickens don't have ears, in case you haven't noticed).

I'm here to tell you a six-hundred year old drunk man can tear the roof off when he gets to goin'.

The next part is a little fuzzy. I've heard it told one way, then another.

I don't know any details, ‘cause I was out trying to figure a way to keep thousands of animals and insects from eatin' and plowin' up my garden. There was a ruckus of some kind, and Mister Noah put some kind of hex on one of the boys.

That was a bad time, no doubt about it, but I stood by my man.

Six hundred years of married life will do that, plus I think it's in The Bible somewhere, and after all, where was I goin'?

Awww, I could go on and on, you know, but what's the use?

You pretty much know the rest, anyway, and I have chores to do: tending to the flocks, and re-populating the earth, and all.

(That man! I tell you...)

Next time you tell this story, though, remember me.

My name is "wife."

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