The other day, one of the local radio stations opened the phone lines for listeners with tales of their own, on their question of the day. The query? “Have you ever lost or destroyed something belonging to your significant other?” Immediately after hearing an inquiry of that type, the mind travels like a lightening bolt and before the second blink of the eye, the brain recreates the scene, as though it happened five minutes earlier; that is, once it selects the incident. After approximately ten seconds I rocketed back thirty years; I mean in an instant.
In our first year of meeting, getting to know each other and being wed, my husband wore this bohemian/hippie kind of beige jacket. Personally, I hated the thing, and maybe that explains the reason for its demise – a subconscious act of loathing on my part. He, on the other hand, loved it as though it had been given to him by….I don’t know…….Joe Namath? I say Joe Willie, since he had been involved in something loved by my husband a tad more than myself and according to him, the only Quarterback worthy of the title.
It had to have been a Friday evening, because on those days we went from work in Manhattan straight to his mom’s. We got off the big green and silver bus from New York, hopped into the car, and headed out. At the time we were both smokers (don’t do that anymore). We headed up Green Pond Road in Morris County, New Jersey in our little beige Volkswagen (ah, the memories; our first car). Both windows were half-way down in order to enjoy the breeze as it whirled throughout, and carried the smoke to the outside. When I finished, I flicked the stub out; at least that’s what I thought. Neither one of us noticed the smoldering in the little back seat until five miles later, when we reached his mother’s house. The sleeve of his most favorite garment had a pencil-head size hole, and the culprit cigarette had continued to burn right through all the folds. Picture the face of a teenager who just lost the first thing he ever bought with his own money. Sorry, folks, not a young adult, just my husband. The moral of this story? Don’t smoke and drive.
Come on, that had to make you think, funny or not so comic, I know the brain went into search mode. If you found me on this page, you gotta share.
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