Tuesday, May 23, 2006

I Yam What I Yam

Cookie over at the Cook Shack -- Gab & Grub was kinda down about blogging. Right or wrong he speaks his mind and after all, it's his blog. Everybody likes to think that what they have to say will be well received by everyone else. Well, sometimes that's not in the cards. We come as we are, warts and all. Which reminds me of a story. Well, two stories actually.

When my wife and I were dating, we were in a store looking at all the little expensive doohickeys. I was working midnights at the time, drinking oceans of coffee and often afflicted with nearly constant gas. As I am easily amused this was not always a bad thing.

Well, the store was nearly empty and just the storeclerk was within earshot when I pulled this doozy. My little honey was ooohhing and aaahhing over the cute little geegaws when I decided to set her up. I walked away from her and opened the doors to some teeny tiny keepsake chest of drawers and said "Oh look at this!" She took the bait. All innocent like she traipses over to where I am standing, peers around me and says, "What's that?"

"A barking spider!" says I and I pulled the pin on my butt grenade. Well, there was a greater pressure differential then I anticipated. A much greater differential. It was like I had suddenly invented the nuclear asshole.

What I had intended as a minor whitecap came out as a tsunami. There sprang forth both a resonance and a fragrance that was truly remarkable in its intensity and longevity. The glass shelves in that classy little shoppe literally shook. I cracked up. I was hysterical. I'll never forget the look on the face of that poor classy store clerk. Shock and awe baby, shock and awe.

I was never so proud.

My point is this, at this juncture of her life that young woman knew without a doubt what she was getting into. Any misconceptions she had about what kind of man she was involved with instantly faded and died right along with every flower in that shoppe. She stayed with me because, well, I'll prolly never know. But at this point she decided to stick it out with me and that was over 25 years ago.

It is the Sunday before Labor Day, 1998, and that same woman, now my bride of some 16 years, was sitting with me in a crowded Denny's restaurant in North Syracuse. We were on our way to Alexandria Bay for the day. The kids were at their big sister's house and the wife and I were alone. Just the two of us on a glorious Sunday morning. That changed.

We ordered breakfast and were enjoying our coffee. I remember the scene like it was yesterday... the bustling waitresses, the noise, the people around us (they'll come into play shortly). It was right around noontime and everyone had just left church services to enjoy a spot of brunch.

Our orders finally arrived and I am hungery. I picked up the katsup bottle to douse my home fries.

Now I hate runny, watery katsup. So I always shake the bottle before I apply the contents. But forsome reason I didn't check to see whether or not the top was on securely. So I shakes the bottle. Hard. Several times. Mr. Heinz decides he has an upset tummy and throws up.

Because I was looking at my food I did not notice that:
1) On the first shake the cap flies off, hits my wife in the face and lands in her eggs.
2) On the second shake, the suddenly unencumbered contents of the bottle fly out and hit my wife in the face.
3) On the third shake (yes I'm that oblivious) the rest of the bottle's contents notice how much fun their cousins are having and decide to join them. But a little bit higher... in my wife's hair.

That's when I hear,"What are you doing!" I turn to my right and see my wife, my bride, the mother of my children. And she is wearing alot of katsup. It's dripping off her. So I react in my patented concerned, ohhh I'm so sorry honey let me make it better mode. I get hysterical. I'm laughing my fool head off. She just stares at me in a manner strangely reminiscent of the infamous "Barking Spider" incident. But she doesn't get mad.

I try to wipe the mess off her and a waitress intervenes with some towels. There are two nice ladies eating right next to us (on the leftside so they escaped the tomato frenzy). One of them smiles a little sadly at my wife and says, "You must be married a long time."

And that's kinda how I feel about you, the reader. I will try not to intentionally insult or malign you. But I may say something stupid or ill-considered. If it bothers you, please leave a comment if you're so moved. If you agree you can certainly do likewise also.

I am not going to pretend I am something that I'm not. Here I am, warts and all. All I can promise is that I'll just try to monitor the pressure a little better.

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