PAYBACK
 

There are at LEAST two things in this world I do not understand (aside from women—I have never understood nor will I ever understand women). The first is why there are Braille instructions on the machines at drive up ATMs. I do not want to be the driver in front of the blind guy, especially if he or she is in a hurry. The second is similar: Braille instructions on the diaper changing table in the men's room. Heck, I can't figure a sighted man who would chance such an operation, let alone a blind guy.

One of the things I do understand is that payback exists, especially between the sexes. And it lasts for a LONG time.

When my wife and I were young and innocent and the world was new, she was expecting our second son. Well, obviously we weren't quite that innocent—we had already figured out fairly well how to make one child—but there was nothing about the bearing of children that had become routine with my wife.

Some women throw up. Some have wild mood swings and become slaves to hormonal tidal waves. My wife cleaned. She did the laundry. Over and over. She mopped, she swept. She dusted and polished. I even considered, in my aforementioned innocence, that I was exceedingly blessed. Even better, she did it in the middle of the night, which left everything in wonderful order for the beginning of the next day. All was in readiness, and life could sail on unhindered by the last minute detail (dirty clothes, dirty dishes, etc.).

On or about her 8th month, at 3 o'clock in the morning, a high pitched and persistent voice brought me with utmost reluctance from the deep well of dreamless sleep.

"Phil."
"Phil."
"PHIL!"
"PHIILLL!!!"
"WHAT!!? WHAT'S WRONG??!!"
"Phil, there's soapsuds all over the roof!"

I paused for a suitable reply. I couldn't think of any. The house was going to be clean on the outside as well as the inside. So? So I went for the sure thing—an unsuitable reply.

"My dear, I just really don't give a s--t! Now can I PUHLEASE go back to sleep??!! I've got to get up in two hours!"

I don't remember the rest of that conversation, but it went downhill from there. In no time at all, I was outside looking at the roof. Sure enough, there were soapsuds all over it. She had been doing laundry and the vent pipe had backed up. I explained as best I could, we called the Rotorooter guy the next day, and all was well—I thought.

Twenty years and two more children (twin boys) came into our lives. She never went on cleaning binges again. She taught school and our lives centered down to raising our kids and living our life together. There were certainly rough patches, especially as her health began to fail; but never, if I could help it, another "unsuitable reply."

About ten years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night for a call of nature. As it happened, it was about 3 o'clock in the morning. I staggered into the bathroom, eyes almost closed. I turned on the light (as I had been trained—makes for better aim), looked into the bathroom mirror and grinned at myself. Half my mouth grinned back. The other half, and the eye above it, sagged unmoving. STROKE, I thought wildly! My God, I'm having a stroke!

I tried harder to grin. No luck! I tried again. No grin!

"Marilyn, Marilyn."
"Marilyn!"
"MARILYN!! WAKE UP!! I CAN'T GRIN!!"

She paused for a long pregnant moment, sitting up in bed.

"My dear, I just really don't give a s--t! Now can I PUHLEASE go back to sleep??!! I've got to get up in two hours!"

"But, but, but, you don't understand! I think I'm having a stroke!"

That did wake her up, and even though I had no loss of speech or other motor function (other than a tendency to slobber on the sibilants), we rushed off to the emergency room. The floor nurse no sooner saw me than she exclaimed, "I know what you have. It's Bell's Palsy!" I had never heard of it.

"What in the heck is(slurp) Bell's(slurp) Pals(slurp)y?"

For your edification, Bell's Palsy is an inflammation of the seventh cranial nerve, causing a drooping of the eyelid and the mouth on the afflicted side. No one knows exactly what causes it—could be cold, could be a virus. It usually lasts 4 to 6 weeks and the sovereign treatment is a course of prednisone. Clears up all but the worst cases.

The important thing for you to remember, however, is that women never, never, NEVER forget. And they WILL pay you back!

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