I was just reading CP Frank, another of the Maine Lobster/Moose hybrid contingent that Last Chance Nance brought along as she infiltrated AC. He wrote a great article about amateur stone work. In so doing he mentioned his better half, and some commentators mentioned his better half as well. Got me to thinking….but first, here is his producer page, http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/536908/frank.html, and here is Nancy’s page, http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/432557/nancy_canfield.html
Wives rock! Not just because they are soft and cuddly, and mine is, just like I like ’em. They are indefatigable in caring for those they love, namely we lame men and the progeny we created. My wife is a whirling dervish of energy when she’s doing the wife/Mommy/MommieGurl thing for me and the toads.
Wives tolerate all our crazy male ideas. They usually back us up in our quest for whatever insane pursuit we are next embarking upon. And they are the first ones to soothe our boo-boos when our journey gets bumpy.
I’ll never forget once as the woofie and I were driving up a street in our old neighborhood. A know-it-all neighbor was so sure I was speeding that he took upon himself to yell at me to slow down. And I did too!
I slammed on the brakes, pulled the car over to the curb and out I went, the woofie hot on my heels, caution issuing forth from her lips. And to her credit she was right there too. BTW, I WAS NOT SPEEDING! In Va. the speed limit in all residential neighborhoods is 25MPH. I was going somewhere between 25 and 27 MPH, so I was good.
Anyhow, the missus, being the babe she is has had to endure a lot. I had a married female neighbor stalk me for a year. She would follow my truck and magically appear wherever I was – happened about 50 times in a year. Even after the woman and her family moved out of the neighborhood the woman would ride down my street real slow eyeballing my property to see if I was outside, which I was often as I was doing a huge stonework project in my backyard. She would ride up and down the street behind mine to see if I was in the yard working.
The missus supported me the whole time, as opposed to my male friends who knew the situation. When the chick would find me my pals would hoot, holler and cat-call and then walk away and snicker at my predicament.
My wife was an angel as I would put on my Halloween costume and hop on Thumper and terrorize the Richmond streets on my scooter. Many was the day I would hop on Thumper in the AM and not reappear til dusk – took all day to terrorize as many as possible, me and my scooter tramp brothers out riding, tipping a Bud or two and just causing general mayhem. When I would get home Mommie Gurl would say “Hi, Baby! Hungry? Want me to make ya something to eat?”
Wives are famous for tolerating their husband’s “interests.” My “enthusiasms” wax and wane, and no matter what I am into today, the missus is right there to laugh, shake her head and support my insanity.
She calls me “Cave Boy” because I love to sit in the dark. I am “Computer Boy” for the Internet gaming passion and time-consuming pastime. As she is not allowed to touch the remote and I am always watching history, or something she calls me “History Boy,” or “War Boy,” as the case may be. I am, of course, “Motorcycle Boy,” for all the obvious reasons, but more importantly I am her “Baby Boy,” as she calls me.
Finally, let me relate how I learned what a good woman is all about by demonstrating what a lousy “other half” is all about.
I was a bouncer and manager of an “adult entertainment” establishment. My sluttier half was one of the “entertainers.” Anyway, one day we are out back of the club and her and I are having words about her conduct. She was in a tiff with another “entertainer” and because I was the manager she thought I should let her do whatever she wanted, regardless of if it was fair to the other “entertainers” or not. I tried to explain to her that as she was my ol’ lady I had to go out of my way to be fair to all the other “entertainers” so as not to give the appearance of favoritism. She wasn’t having none of it..
So we are out back in the parking lot having our words and this club hang-around named Steve is there. He is putting his two cents in repeatedly, despite my thrice warning him to mind his own business. Finally good ol’ Steve makes the huge error of putting his hands on me.
I grabbed him around the throat and threw him onto the hood of a car. I climbed on him and was wailing away on his hard noggin. All the while Steve is trying to get his .38 from his pants back pocket to shoot me. I am punching for all I’m worth while I try to keep him from getting the pistol. It was a race. If he wins I die.
I scream to my sluttier half “Go get DW,” one of my Biker brothers who is the club DJ as well as carrying his own snub-nose .38 in his pocket too! I figure if there is gonna be a gun fight I would at least like to have one too, ya feelin’ me? And at my second or third screaming order to “go get DW,” the sluttier half is flapping her gums at me, “What does DW have to do with any of this? He doesn’t need to stick his big nose in this!”
Mind you I am fighting hard to keep Steve from shooting me, hitting him and trying to keep his right hand from his back pocket and arguing with the “entertainer” ol’ lady – talk about multi-tasking!
Finally I near knocked Steve out, roll him over and grab his pistol from his pocket and walk away. All the while the fat mouth “entertainer” is still flapping her gums. I wanted to shoot her! At that moment I learned the difference between a good woman and a lousy one. I never forgot the lesson.
Flash back to the current day. One day my missus and I are having an impasse, whereby only one choice can be made – no straddling the fence and pleasing two masters – it would be one way or the other.
My wife looks at me and says “Baby, I am your wife. I will do whatever you think is best. I love you and trust you.” Mind you these words DID NOT issue forth from some dentally challenged and obedient wife. My wife graduated high school two years early and went to Vassar at 16 years old on an academic scholarship. She graduated from NYU with a degree in Policy Issues.
She is an very highly paid consultant for Fortune 500 companies. She has twice been a corporate VP at two of the nation’s largest banking and investment firms. This chick IS NOT the dutiful and quiet wife cowed by her over-bearing oaf of a husband, my standing as the over-bearing oaf notwithstanding.
But in that moment what I knew inside myself was confirmed. I am the luckiest man in the world. I am married to a woman who is as smart and capable as any woman I have ever met. She is accomplished, professional, and for some silly and totally unexplained reason she loves me. She stands beside me and behind me at the same time.
Never in my life will I need be concerned that she will debate me when the heat is on. Never! She trusts me and she gives so much of herself to me, the toads and the canine critters to boot! And I know that if I ever scream, “Go get DW,” the result will be DW standing there instantly instead of having a debate ensue as I am trying my level best to not be shot in the gut.
My woofie, my “MommieGurl” is the deal. She is my best pal and my confidant. She has my back 24/7. And she knows no matter what, I am a man. She respects that role I must live. She does not challenge the male/female dichotomy, because she knows she is her own woman, and if anyone is the less then equal partner here it’s me, not her. But being the awesome Tootsie she is, she let’s me think I am running the show. Smart girl!.
And NOT because she is “Suzy Homemaker.” She’s as smart, tough and capable as any woman I have ever known. Nope, she’s very content to be my woman, and I am way lucky that she likes me so much, the silly girl!
Wives really are the Earth’s most valuable resource. And those freckles and those blue eyes just get to me. I love her and am the luckiest man on this good Earth! Hooray for Whip!