Saturday, December 15, 2007

No, YOU Move Over

I page the DNB at work.

"Hi. If I had gone missing for five years, would you just up and marry someone else?" I begin accusingly.

"Hmm," he says thoughtfully, apparently unfazed by the unusual nature of my greeting. "What are the circumstances of your disappearance?"

"We were in a plane crash together; you got rescued and I didn't, and I survived on a deserted island until a submarine found me and brought me back to civilization," I explain.

I've been watching Move Over, Darling, an old movie in which Doris Day and James Garner deal with just such a situation. The premise is absolutely ridiculous, but the DNB is used to answering for acts he hasn't committed.

Like when I have a nightmare that involves some bad behavior on his part, and I wake up horrified to smack him on the arm.

"You were such an ass to me in my dream," I'll say, crossing my arms.

"I'm sorry, baby," he always responds sleepily, patting my hand limply as a gesture of sincerity.

Or when we're watching a movie and the couple has a fight and the husband moves out.

"Men are such bastards," I'll comment, looking pointedly at the DNB.

"I know, and we feel terrible about it," he'll reply.

In Move Over, Darling, the husband has, with the damnedest luck, married another woman the very morning his wife returns from her hiatus.

"Well," I demand. "Would you marry someone else without knowing whether I was dead or alive?"

"Baby," he begins, knowing this will end badly. "I can't just wait forever. A man has needs."

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