Tuesday, April 14, 2009

A Grave error

This happened a month ago on our way back from my husband's Dr. appointment in Houston. We stopped at the Grove—airport ice cream shop—because I needed some more comfort food after a stressful week of scans, appointments and bad news.

I ordered my hot fudge sundae, took out my money to pay, because I had handy cash, told the woman behind the counter I was paying for Jim’s who was standing behind me (actually beside me.) She looks a t Jim and says in heavily accented English, “He your son?”

I wanted to throw my hot fudge sundae into her smiling face but instead I replied icily, “He is my husband.” To which I might have added: my 63 yr old grey haired husband with stage 4 cancer.

Jim has tried his best to explain her grave error. “A cultural thing,” he says. “You know you paid for my ice cream so she thought I was your son.” I’m not buying that.

He tries again. “The poor thing was visually impaired. Did you see her service dog lying behind the counter?” NO.

One last try. “After you left, she said, ‘I make bad joke.’” No, she make near-fatal mistake.

I told you all I’m looking bad, in need of a new hair style or makeover. The only positive explanation I can come up with is that she thought he looked 16 and I looked 36, or even 26 and 46.I guess I don’t mind looking older than him if I look younger than I am. I’d like to go back for clarification but if she thinks I look 80 I’d have to kill one of us.

The moral: Never marry a man with boyish good looks. Your ego can take the comparison at 25 but not at 62.

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