The Man I Married wrote me a check and spelled my name wrong.
“You’re joking,” I said, hopefully.
“Just tired,” he said.
He wrote me a huge check. We were transferring money to my bank account, where it would earn more interest. This kind of home activity is one of the signs that you are getting old.
Seriously, I could understand if he spelled my last name wrong. His entire family still can’t spell it right, although I think this is a subtle form of Midwestern protest that I kept my birth name. But my first name? After almost twenty-five years? That’s officially half his life.
In the For__________ line at the bottom of the check, he said he’d write Sex.
That gave me a huge belly laugh. He can still make me laugh like that after all these years. Kind of balances out the name-spelling thing. I suppose as long as he calls me by the right name at key moments, we’re still good.
A couple of days later, MIM said, “I need to write you that check.”
Hm, should I tell him that he already gave me the check? I wonder how many times I can get him to write me a big check? My passport is renewed but his isn’t, so it would take him quite awhile to catch up to me on a Mexican beach.
Truthfully, there’s no one else I’d rather be on a beach with than the Man I Married.
On a somber note, studies have shown that folks with Traumatic Brain Injuries are more likely to develop unhappy conditions like Alzheimer’s disease and other types of dementia later in life. MIM has had two serious brain squishes; it’s a good thing he still has a lot of hair, because he’s got one gnarly scalp. So now that we are officially “later in life,” I could theoretically spend many sleepless nights worrying if the memory lapses are harbingers of doom.
Oh, wait, that’s what I do every night, anyway. So, business as usual.
* * * * *
Up next week: The Cider Maker’s Wife, in which the Man I Married appropriates home safety preparedness items for making hard cider, a humorous post that gets a little heavy when I sidetrack to discussing unsettling behaviors by traumatized kids.
“Jennifer D. Munro had me howling with [her] irony…” —Susie Bright, Best American Erotica Editor
“…beautiful essay…with wit, humor, and ultimately an encouraging understanding of how to take that which [her] body has thrown at [her] and press on.…” —Mama Speaks
“It was wonderful to read Munro’s eloquent, funny frustrations and confirmations.” —Eden, Clean Sheets Reader Comments
“…a resonant hoot!” —Paula, Clean Sheets Reader Comments
“…devastatingly relevant/funny…” —Rob, Clean Sheets Reader Comments