(Now, before you cluck over the dismal state of my marriage, let me tell you that it’s been me & him, him & me for almost 18 years. So it could be a heckuvalot dismal-er.)
My husband and I very rarely find ourselves in the house together, alone, and not otherwise occupied with to-dos. So it was unusual that both kids were invited to a movie on Saturday afternoon, and I really didn’t have anything else to do other than to sit on the couch and read my book.
Whit came up to me with an excited gleam in his eye.
He sat down next to me.
"Honey," he said, with trepidation, putting his hand on my knee, "I know exactly what we could do for the next few hours while the kids are gone."
I looked at him as though he had just told me he was an alien visiting to farm body parts.
"Oh, Whit, for God’s sake. Not a chance. I’ll get sweaty and I already took a shower. And I’m reading my book. And it’s 3:00 in the afternoon. And...seriously...really?...no. No way."
He looked a little confused and backed away from me.
"Really? How did you know what I was thinking? Who cares what time it is? I know you’ll get all sweaty but I have an idea that would cool you down. And you could kind of read your book during breaks, when I’m working on my form."
"Working on your FORM? You have FORM? I don’t even want to have this conversation."
Whit, irritated, responded, "Of course I work on my form! I work on it every time. How else am I going to get any better?"
I said, "You’re 45 years old. You don’t have to get any better."
He said, "A lot of pros have game into their 70’s!"
My heart stopped. His 70’s? Really? I was just trying to make it through his 40’s. And he wants to call himself a pro? Aren’t we a little sure of ourselves there, big boy?
Whit narrowed his eyes. "Wait just a minute. What are you thinking of?"
Me, a little uncomfortable: "Um, nothing. What are you thinking of?"
Whit took a deep breath. "I was thinking you could videotape my golf swing and then we could go out for a drink."
Me, backpedaling fast: "Ha. Yep. Of course. That’s just what I thought you’d say. Great idea. Let’s go!"
Whit looked relieved and said, "Awesome! I was hoping you’d say yes. I’m a lucky man."
Oh yes you are, honey. A lucky, lucky man.
On the way out to the car, he swatted my rear end. "'I’ve already taken a shower???' You can do better than that."
I laughed and warned him: "Dude, if you think you’re gonna turn pro and have game into your 70’s, any excuse is going to have to work."
Yes, all you twenty-somethings with stars in your eyes. This is what it looks like. This is love, suburban style.