Bob

Batz

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October 15, 2007

When Was the Last Time You Smiled? Well, I Don’t Know Either!

I’m not sure who coined the phrase, “You’re never too old to learn something new.” But I do know there may be some truth to it.

Case in point: My first wife Sally was reading one of those so-called “women’s magazines” the other day. Those are the magazines that each month are filled with at least 500 stories that offer tips on how to lose pounds fast and carry such headlines as “DROP 300 POUNDS FAST!” and “SLIM DOWN SIX DRESS SIZES IN JUST A WEEK.” She came across a tidbit of information that she shared with me first thing the next day.

“Good morning, Grumpy,” she said as soon as I climbed out of bed.

I was surprised by her words. “And just what do you mean by that?” I asked.

She held up the magazine. “It says right here that the average woman smiles 62 times a day while the average man smiles only about eight times a day. What do you have to say about that?”

I peered at her sleepily over the rim of my coffee cup.

Then she added, “When was the last time you smiled?”

“It was at 8:18 a.m. last Tuesday,” I quickly replied, adding, “How the heck do I know when I smiled my last smile? That’s like asking somebody ‘How many times did you breathe yesterday?’ or ‘What was the date of your last hiccup?’”

Sally flashed her trademark pout and said, “There’s no need to get mad at me. I was just asking the question because sometimes I get the feeling we are drifting apart the longer we are married.”

I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. “I can assure you we are not drifting apart even if I don’t remember the last time I smiled,” I said.

She was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry if I’m overreacting, but I just want you to know that I care about you. If there’s anything about me that bothers you, tell me right now. I promise I won’t get mad.”

I was silent for a moment, then I said, “Well, yes there is, now that you mention it. The other day when we were shopping at that large discount department store that specializes in everything from fresh produce to shoes for the entire family, you had me paged! Why?”

“I did it because I couldn’t find you,” she quickly answered. “When we went our separate ways in the store, we agreed to meet near the checkout aisles in 20 minutes and when I got there you were nowhere in sight. I waited for what seemed like an eternity and you still didn’t show up.”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t an eternity. It was 10 minutes! I was looking at fishing lures and it takes time to look at fishing lures. And, besides, we had an agreement that if you ever had to page me in a discount store, you would ask them to page Brad Bartz, not Bob Batz, just in case any of my friends are there.

“Furthermore, don’t you think your page that day was a tad too detailed? I mean, it was roughly the same length as Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? Not only did you use my real name, you mentioned the kind of car I drive, my birth date, the last four digits of my Social Security number and the fact that I don’t care much for liver and onions.”

Sally’s pout grew.

“I wanted to be specific,” she finally said. “ I didn’t want some total stranger to respond to my page . . . although, now that you’re behaving so childishly about this whole thing, it might not have been such a bad idea to have a total stranger respond to my page, Grumpy Guy.”

Despite her quick comeback, I wasn’t done venting yet.

“And furthermore,” I went on, “did you have to tell them you wanted me to meet you at the lingerie counter? I mean, c’mon. Couldn’t you have chosen a little more . . . um . . . macho meeting place, like maybe sporting goods or auto supplies?”

© 2007 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

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