Surprises Are The Spices Of Life

When I was 26, I was immature. Now I’m 53. I’ve changed  . . .  somewhat.

On Valentine’s Day, the newspaper has a “Love Lines” section where you can place a message. I had just married Bob. I wrote, “Roses are red. Violets are blue. When I pick my nose, I think of you.” Apparently the people at the Cape Cod Times questioned my sense (or lack) of taste, and called for verification.  

I begged Bob to take the call. He did, and added, “I married a ding-a-ling.” So the poem ran. On Father’s Day, the paper does a similar thing – but we don’t have kids, so I put, among the page of babies’ photos, a loving picture of our duck.

Then I found a new kick. When Bob wasn’t looking, I’d fling a big spoon of mashed potatoes so it landed on the back of his neck. Oddly, he didn’t find this amusing and finally got furious. He said, “Stop this!” Unfortunately, at that moment, I had a whopper of a spoonful behind my back and couldn’t resist one final whirl. I slept on the couch. Tater tosses are now history.

On St. Patrick’s Day, I put green food coloring in the toilet. When Bob used the bathroom, he was stunned. Upon realizing the color came from a bottle and not his – well, you know, he said, “You’re not keeping this kind of thing going, right?” I said, “No way.” And prayed he wouldn’t take a shower using the now-green shampoo.

Back then, our hot water didn’t last very long, so I’d boil water to add to baths. One St. Patrick’s Day, I put green food coloring in the pot. When I poured the green water into the tub, he laughed - until towel-off time. I didn’t know that food coloring stains skin.

Once, he was uptight about making an important phone call. So I told him to wear his Groucho Marx mask and look in a mirror while calling. This decreased his anxiety. So, on his birthday, I put a picture in the paper of him doing this. He loved it.

Now, on his birthdays, I call places he’ll be going, I describe what he’s wearing and ask people to sing the birthday song. Last year, when we drove to Sandy Neck beach, the ranger at the gate stopped us. (I had called and told her our license plate number.) Obviously in the spirit, she put her hands on her hips and demanded to know why we were going to the beach. Bob, stunned by her attitude, said, “We’re having a picnic!” She stated, still in a killer tone, “No picnics today unless it’s a special occasion.” That’s when Bob caught on, looked at me and said, “I love this part of you.” And we sang the birthday song.

Recently, Bob surprised me with his own “Love Lines” poem. It read,

“Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

The time’s finally come

to talk about you.

I’ll just say I love you

and thank you so much

for your lessons on living

and laughing and such.

And making my life a wonderful treat.

I was truly blessed on that day we did meet.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’s adoring, tender and loving; beyond what I thought any person could be capable of being. But in reality, the person who was “truly blessed on that day we did meet” was me.