My wife knows me. She knows all about the good, the bad and the ugly. She’s knows what I’m going to do before I do. A perfect example of this sometimes irritating clairvoyance of hers happened last night after dinner.
When I got back from the hospital, I spent most of the afternoon relaxing out on the deck in these fabulous recliners we just bought. I caught up on my e-mail and browsed on Facebook for awhile until it was time to eat. During the meal we watched some episodes of Frasier that we had on DVR. I began to fidget after awhile, which is my wont. After the third episode, Pam looks at me and says, “ You getting bored already?” I didn’t have to answer, because she already knew that the earliest symptom of Dunnevant Derangement Syndrome had manifested itself. Boredom. She knows that this will be followed in time by, irritability, antsiness, extreme cabin fever, and finally, demands to be taken to AmFam so I can lift weights or some such ridiculous thing.
So, my wife disappears for a couple of minutes, then returns with both hands behind her back. “Pick a hand,” she says with a mischievous grin. I pick her left hand which is empty. “Sorry about that. Better luck next time.” Then after a laugh she gives me this:
No doubt she has many more of these surprises in store for me over the next few days, since I am such a notoriously awful patient, and…she knows me. This beautiful magazine, chocked full of the complete history of the Rat Pack and pages upon pages of glorious black and white photographs will keep me occupied and out of her hair for 3 or 4 hours. She knows that I so love Sinatra, I can’t possibly be thinking up some crazy scheme to sneak out of the house while I’ve got this magazine in my hands.
This woman is a one in a million.