Gary Chalk
Our anniversary is in March. I have the memory of a Living Retired man, so my wife Jan began reminding me in between putting away her Christmas decorator pillows and bringing out her New Year’s decorator pillows. “Gary, this year let’s book a special dinner at a restaurant that features haute cuisine. It will be nice to enjoy a thoughtfully prepared and artistically presented meal.”
“Jan, is haute cuisine where the chefs hover over plates arranging flower petals on pork chops with nose hair tweezers? We are Living Retired, so can we afford a place that charges by the crouton?”
Every anniversary I purchase a ‘just the right card’ for Jan. It must contain mushy, sappy words guys could never dream up. Bass Pro doesn’t have these cards. Just saying.
When Jan opens the card I can count on her reading the inscription and saying, “Gary, that is so thoughtful, but you don’t mean it do you?” What’s with that? I spent money on a card, which in her words, are words I don’t mean.
An anniversary also calls for going to a floral shop to purchase a bouquet—French meaning overpriced petals that wilt and fall off during dessert! I can count on Jan thanking me, saying, “Gary, that is so thoughtful, but you didn’t have to buy me flowers.” This is code that means if you ever forget you won’t find the television remote during March Madness!
Have you heard about couples re-enacting their first date?
Flashback…
Jan and I were in Grade 12. On the floor in the darkness of my parents’ front closet I called Jan. “Gary, don’t whisper. I can’t hear you.” It worked. That Saturday evening I doused myself in English Leather cologne (Earthy Mountain Pine Scent) and borrowed my dad’s 1968 Ford Fairlane. Jan’s father greeted me at their front door. He shook my hand and sniffed. “Do you work for the Park Service fighting fires?” Just then Jan’s mother appeared. She began sneezing! “Have you been camping?”
We were off to a movie, but things got off to a bad start when I smashed the box of MacIntosh Toffee into smithereens—all down my pants! A half hour into the movie I Made My Move! Stretching my arm way up into the air, I slowwly—well faster when the woman sitting behind said, “If you’re going to put your arm around her shoulder do it, because I can’t see the movie!” My arm found Jan’s shoulder. Whew! That was the good part; this was the bad part…
Within minutes my arm ached. It took so long to get it around Jan’s shoulder I didn’t dare move it! The pain was excruciating! Tears streamed down my cheeks. “Gary, you are so sweet, but this isn’t the sad part of the movie.” What followed was sheer movie madness. I had the worst case of numb arm ever reported in the New England Journal of Medicine!
Walking out of the theater Jan reached for my hand—which felt like a baggy half-filled with lukewarm water. OMG! How could I drive the car with a numb arm?
Driving back to Jan’s parents’ house was nerve-wracking. Over and over in my mind, I plotted my next move. In the driveway I turned the engine off. The lights went dark. Jan snuggled close and whispered in my ear, “Gary, what is the scent of your cologne?” I blurted out, “Desperation!”