Either I harbor a deep seated death wish or I need
to be confined to the nearest loony bin. I am the long-suffering wife of a man
with” the devil’s own charm” and I’ve just put my head into the lion’s mouth
again.
Both of us
have just joined a local university’s continued learning program for people
fifty-five and older. Normally this would be a good thing—meeting new people,
learning interesting things, discussing challenging topics, taking trips with
our peers. The problem is that most of these interesting new people are ladies,
nice ladies to be sure, but ladies susceptible to “Cary Grant.”
Our first outing was for a discussion at the weekly “Plato’s
place.” At the end of a spirited
conversation with more than a dozen others, many of the single ladies hurried
to welcome the newcomers. It would be more correct to say to welcome my
handsome, intelligent, and charming husband. (Apparently I am “chopped liver.”)
Several introduced themselves as “widows” and proffered invitations to their
favorite activities like travel abroad and supplemental groups in nearby towns.
One woman tracked him down at the nearby Costco store where we went after the
discussion.
Ladies have been stalking him for decades. It’s the
same story everywhere we go. At the last IBAM (Irish Books, Art, and Music)
celebration at the Chicago area Irish American Heritage Center he was cornered
in the library by some Irishwoman not prepared to give him up any time soon. “Oh,
your husband is such a nice man!” she
declared, thereafter turning her back to me and continuing the conversation
despite his genuine attempts to break away.
The neighborhood isn’t safe either. I made the
mistake of removing a few bushes and making the front of our house into what I
like to call The Veranda but what is actually a small porch with a few
chairs. It’s usually nice and quiet when
I go outside to read in the fresh air. It’s usually standing room only when “Cary
Grant” sits out there. All the neighbor ladies want to pass the time or ask him
something. Since he is a charming, nice, and kind extrovert he loves to help if
he can. He’ll even put out the seat cushions for “the ladies.” Naturally they beat a quick retreat if I join
them.
Young and old, the ladies all love “Cary.” The sweet Korean woman who owned the local
dry cleaners giggled to me when she connected the two of us. “He very pretty man,” she said. Another young Chinese nurse recently thought
I was his mother! Now that was going too
far, even though my hair is mostly white and he has a dozen distinguished grey
hairs at the temples. Actually “Cary
Grant” is three and a half years older than "wifey."
Don’t get me wrong, I love him dearly and am not
immune to his charms even after almost fifty years. It’s great to have a husband who is kind and
helpful, but couldn’t he turn it down a bit. The least he could do would be to
get more grey hair and a few wrinkles. He should definitely whip out the photos
of his grandchildren while referring to his arthritis and any variety of age
related impairments. I doubt it would deter the widows and other ladies though
so I’ll keep a close eye on Cary and the ladies—especially the ladies—because he
really is an innocent and unaware of his
effect on the weaker sex. Perhaps that’s part of his charm. After all when you’ve got it, flaunt it. And
he’s got something!
Happy Father’s Day, Cary.
