The Next Twenty
Remember – and even though you may old like me, you might remember, since it was JUST THIS WEEK – when I wrote all those sweet loving things about my husband in honor of our twentieth wedding anniversary?
Well, I meant all those endearing words about his endearing charms.
Friday I learned that I am married to another guy.
I think perhaps while I was at work those pod people from “Invasion Of The Body Snatchers” came to my house and surprised my real husband before he could pull out his new gun.
The day started out okay. He was normal at breakfast. He was cranky and had a lot of coffee. That’s him all right.
And when I first got home, he seemed okay.
I had made my Cheater’s Turkey Soup. When I roast my turkey on Thanksgiving, I add broth, carrots, celery, and onion in the bottom of the pan. By the time my turkey is done, I’ve got the soup pretty much on the way. I just put it in my big stockpot, and add the carcass once we are through scavenging (that’s the word when you pick at a carcass, right?). An hour later…turkey soup.
My husband was excited about having that nice turkey soup, and he had said at breakfast he would put it on in the morning and let it simmer all day. I reminded him that everything had already cooked a really long time, and he agreed to wait until 3:30 to put the soup on the stove.
When I got home, he had forgotten. Naturally.
But now I see. This was just a ruse by the alien to make me think it was my normal husband.
When we sat down to dinner (an hour later than I had planned), I noticed something very odd. My husband was eating his soup with a fork!
“Why are you eating soup with a fork?” I asked.
“I’m eating the meat and veggies first,” he explained.
“But it’s SOUP!” I pointed out, as it seemed to require pointing out.
“I’ll have the broth after I finish the insides. That’s how I like it.”
That’s how he likes it? Since when? We’ve been married twenty years. Never. Not once. No. Never.
My husband is eccentric, but he’s a consistent eccentric.
I was suspicious.
Then the clincher.
My husband has sore hands from all the yard cleanup he had to do after our big storm. This includes a small cut on his thumb. The cut was still there, so the alien is not sweet E.T. who can heal these injuries.
As we finished dinner, my alien/husband said, “My hand really hurts, so I would appreciate it if you could do the dishes.”
I won’t say my husband never does dishes. I still work full-time, but he is retired, so he puts the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher ever morning. And he occasionally helps with the dinner dishes.
I figured it out. In twenty years,that would be 7,305 days (with leap years). If we eat out once a week, that means 260 days with no dishes. That leaves 7,045 dish-washing days. I would say he has helped at least 100 times.
That means I have done the dishes 6,945 times, or approximately 98.7% of the dish days.
And yet he asked me if I could do the dishes. Like it was a special favor to him. Just this once.
So at sixty years old, I figure I have another twenty years to live with this alien.
I just hope he can still fix stuff.