Keeping the magic alive
One of my co-workers is the type of person who is consistently unintentionally hilarious. Sometimes she's intentionally funny, but almost always most hilarious when she thinks what she's saying is the equivalent of, "I had cornflakes for breakfast," when it's in fact something fairly bizarre.
Today, she told me about her husband's imaginary dog.
This couple has a commuter marriage (which I don't think I could ever do on a long-term basis -- God bless them, and Matt and Chris, and anyone else who can manage this for years, because blech would I hate it); she's here in Jersey full-time and he's up here most weekends, but during the week he keeps a small apartment about six hours away. At their house in Jersey, they have a dog, and they walk the dog together every night, but it's not really feasible for him to keep a dog at the apartment, and he misses the exercise and family time every evening.
So, one day, he called up his wife and told her he'd gotten a dog, which she immediately understood to mean as "I made up an imaginary dog." I'm fairly certain that if the Smelmooo told me he bought a swimming pool, which is totally absurd given the postage-stamp that's our backyard, my first instinct would not be "Oh, of course he means an imaginary pool." Although that thought might hit in 30 seconds, my first reaction would be, "You WHAT? The hell?!"
Anyway, I guess when you're married 25 years you know instinctively, so my co-worker played right along, and asked all about the dog, whose name is Marmaduke. As it turns out, he had been abandoned and picked up by a circus, who showcased him as a miniature horse and abused him, hooking him up to a cart and dressing him up in clown costumes and stuff. So then the husband rescued him, and every night, they go on a walk at the same time as the wife and dog in Jersey, and they talk to each other on their cell phones so it's like they're all walking together.
Last week, he emailed pictures of Marmaduke: one of him in the circus outfit; one as a puppy; one of him walking with Daddy. My co-worker thinks this is adorable, and I agree; I guess a sense of humor really is the key to a successful relationship.
Today, she told me about her husband's imaginary dog.
This couple has a commuter marriage (which I don't think I could ever do on a long-term basis -- God bless them, and Matt and Chris, and anyone else who can manage this for years, because blech would I hate it); she's here in Jersey full-time and he's up here most weekends, but during the week he keeps a small apartment about six hours away. At their house in Jersey, they have a dog, and they walk the dog together every night, but it's not really feasible for him to keep a dog at the apartment, and he misses the exercise and family time every evening.
So, one day, he called up his wife and told her he'd gotten a dog, which she immediately understood to mean as "I made up an imaginary dog." I'm fairly certain that if the Smelmooo told me he bought a swimming pool, which is totally absurd given the postage-stamp that's our backyard, my first instinct would not be "Oh, of course he means an imaginary pool." Although that thought might hit in 30 seconds, my first reaction would be, "You WHAT? The hell?!"
Anyway, I guess when you're married 25 years you know instinctively, so my co-worker played right along, and asked all about the dog, whose name is Marmaduke. As it turns out, he had been abandoned and picked up by a circus, who showcased him as a miniature horse and abused him, hooking him up to a cart and dressing him up in clown costumes and stuff. So then the husband rescued him, and every night, they go on a walk at the same time as the wife and dog in Jersey, and they talk to each other on their cell phones so it's like they're all walking together.
Last week, he emailed pictures of Marmaduke: one of him in the circus outfit; one as a puppy; one of him walking with Daddy. My co-worker thinks this is adorable, and I agree; I guess a sense of humor really is the key to a successful relationship.
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