Look out, Ralph Nader. The Little Missuss wants your job.

No, not the one that centers on being a three-time, third-party candidate for president. Your other job. Your day job.

You know, the one where you were Mr. Safety Guy, looking out for the well being of Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public, and their children, Dick and Jane Q. Public.

You see, the Little Missuss has been on a tirade lately about safety issues. It all started when she was washing my truck and got a good look at the sad condition of my tires.

Now before readers get all hung up on the fact that the Little Missuss was washing my truck and I wasn’t doing it myself, let me remind you all of how cold it was a few weeks ago and how it almost snowed. You should also be informed that she did a lousy job shining the hub cabs, and also failed to scrub away some of the bugs that were embedded on my windshield and front bumper.

Anyway, while washing my truck with what I hope was a soft and non-abrasive cloth – she really should break down and buy one of those “ShamWows!” I’ve been seeing on television – the Little Missuss noticed that my tires were worn to the rim.

When I told her that they had many, many more miles left on them, she started to talk about safety this, safety that, and then secretly took my truck to a mechanic to have it inspected while I was distracted by more important things, like the vital outcome of the last Pistons/76ers game.

The mechanic – who I later spoke with personally to gauge the validity of this whole tire safety issue – pointed to one of my tires where the wires from the steel belts were poking out through the rubber.

“Well, my good man, don’t you know how much extra traction I get on the road when it’s icy with these little steel wires poking into the street? I bet they are even better than studded tires!”

Sadly, he did not agree, and sided with the Little Missuss.

I wasn’t surprised, really. Safety has always been Job One with the Little Missuss.

That’s all fine and well with me, but married life has shown me that Job One always leads to Job Two and Job Three, which are usually accompanied by other associated tasks that can sometimes take up a whole weekend of playoff basketball.

You are right. I know what you are thinking. The system is broken.

You know, sometimes I catch myself looking back, thinking about the Olden Days. When I was a bachelor and would just plug in a power saw and start sawing. Or a drill and put some holes in stuff that needed more holes for the good of the general order.

Indeed, I know that my views on safety were formed even earlier, as a young boy.

Is this tree branch safe enough to hold the weight of more than one brother Kelly? Let’s jump on it real hard to test.

Is this ice thick enough to hold the weight of all of the brothers Kelly? Let’s jump on it real hard to test.

This early training has served me well through life.

I knew I was doomed the time I wasted $3 for a pair of safety goggles. The Little Missuss saw them on me and ever since, I haven’t been able to plug in a power tool without her saying, “Where are your safety goggles?”

I heard it again last weekend. “Where are your safety goggles?”

I think I was making popcorn at the time. In the microwave.

Next issue: A first!