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Happy
Anniversary, Mr. History
By Susan Olling
How dull/boring would our lives be without our spouses? Our
neighbors just celebrated what I call a “speed limit” anniversary
this year. I think I can speak for Mrs. Neighbor in that life
would be less exciting without our guys. For example, Mr.
Neighbor spent a day taking apart, in their basement, his Christmas
present from his father-in-law: a chain saw. When Mrs. Neighbor
got home and asked about the oily odor, he assured her repeatedly that
it was the saw. Mrs. Neighbor asked me whether they (husbands)
can smell. Yes, selectively.
Mr. History and I celebrated our anniversary on 11 Jun. He’s made
me shake my head on more than one occasion. With your indulgence,
let me share just a few of those times.
It’s advisable not to book a flight into our airports this time of year
between 4:00 and 7:00 p.m. due to the possibility of
thunderstorms. We did not know this when we returned from our
honeymoon. We had a flight from Boston to National Airport that
fell during those witching hours. Yes, thunderstorms here
cancelled our flight. Mr. History was pretty happy to have
an extension of the trip. Not having anything substantial to eat
since we left Canada that morning, I suggested unless he could make one
of the chairs look like a ham sandwich, to please curb his
enthusiasm. An added wrinkle to the festivities: the World Cup
was being played in Foxborough. Finding a hotel room was going to
be the next adventure. All the room had to have were a bed,
indoor plumbing, hot and cold running water, and no tiny
livestock. Off to Saugus we went in a hotel shuttle filled with
folks from Ireland who were there for the soccer. Oh, I did
get that ham sandwich; and we got home the next day.
He purchased a bouquet of flowers one time. When I asked him what
kind of flowers he got, he said “pretty ones”. He started
describing the bouquet. When he mentioned “purple floozies”, I
couldn’t wait to see those flowers. I think the purple
flowers in question were statice.
We went to New Brunswick, Canada for our tenth anniversary. Two
churches were within walking distance one Sunday, and the Anglican
church was open for an early service. We sat in the back of the
sanctuary. A good decision, given what happened during the first
hymn. Anglican hymnals have only the words. Mr.
History can’t carry a tune with a five-gallon bucket (bless him).
When the first hymn started, I heard a noise next to me. It was
Mr. History singing nowhere near the tune. I started to snicker
and then to giggle. I didn’t dare look at him again. I
didn’t want to have to leave the church due to laughter. It took
most of that first hymn to quiet down. He said he was just doing
what the Bible says: making a joyful noise. One of his co-workers
described it as “rappin’ with the congregation”.
Mr. History likes to cook, and he’s a good cook. His experiments
can go awry sometimes. The pasta dish he made smelled delicious
while it was baking. However, to say it was inedible would be an
understatement. He’d added unknown spices to the
sauce. Oh, honey, it wasn’t necessary to “enhance” the
contents of a jar of pasta sauce.
Mr. History is a poster child for the use of seatbelts. He called
me at work one day in 2007 to say that he was OK, but the truck was
probably totaled. As we all know, one of the worst times to
drive is just after it’s rained. The oil on those roads can make
‘em slick. Mr. History was going at speed, thankfully, when the
rear end of the truck raised just a bit from that slightly slick
surface. The truck rolled 100 feet down an embankment and landed
on its top. Fortunately, he was wearing his seat belt and walked
away from the accident. I was rather upset when he got home (was
he really alright or just a talking head?), and his response was “the
house would have been paid for”. Wrong thing to say. When
he shared this story at work, the reaction split along gender
lines. The gentlemen all thought it was funny, the ladies did not.
Happy anniversary, Mr. History. I wouldn’t trade the past
twenty-one years with you for anything.
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