My husband is like no other being I have ever met. He has either the strongest bones in the world, the worst balance, the fastest healing, or the best luck of anyone I have ever met in my life.
During our thirty year marriage he has tripped and done face plants more than I can count without loosing a tooth or breaking a bone, often fallen off his bike without breaking anything, slipped and landed on me without getting hurt (but dislocated my shoulder) and once narrowly missed drowning in the undertow in Brazil during Carnival.
He is always scraped, scuffed, and the cause of more dropped iPhones, silverware, broken glasses, dishes, exploding Gorilla glue and other ancillary items that I have to keep replacing. We are definitely keeping the economy alive.
When I was first introduced to Arthur’s boyhood friends they called him ‘Whitey the Smasher.’ The ‘Whitey’ part I could understand because he had beautiful blond hair, but the ‘Smasher’ part I really couldn’t figure out. The mystery revealed itself soon enough on an expensive Oscar de la Renta gown.
After a few ruined outfits I learned that at weddings and bar mitzvah celebrations I didn’t want to be sitting next to him at the table. It never failed. Whatever he was drinking I would be wearing on my clothes before the evening was over; wine, water, champaign, or coffee. Arthur, that handsome devil of mine, is a spiller, smasher and tripper.
Case in point, several years ago we were at the Friars Club at an event and I had invited Janice Leiberman of the NBC Today Show to join us. I had done several segments for her on Florence Henderson’s morning program and we had become friends. My son and his wife just happened to be in town, also, and I thought she would enjoy meeting everyone.
Janice arrived in a beautiful cream cashmere outfit that was as stunning as she was beautiful. Within an hour my husband had spilled red wine all over her expensive cashmere outfit. She spent the entire evening looking like a Pollock painting. I’m sure if it had been legal she would’ve killed my husband.
Arthur voluntarily has had brain studies done on him and nothing out of the order shows up. He just physically moves faster than his brain can register. His gray matter is trying to send him a message, but he is too busy to listen. He is a wired Type A personality who at 88 shows no slowing down. So mellow me is used to the ‘oops!’ bangs and crashes and the sound of another dish hitting the floor. It’s just the price I pay for finding a handsome and smart soulmate with a major case of the “Watch out!”-clumsy-dropsies. Hey! None of us are perfect.