I
am crazy about my husband. He is just the man for me. Having lived through one
unhappy marriage, I find it a great pleasure to be married to a person I like.
We like the same music, we laugh at each other’s jokes, we like the to do the
same kinds of things and we like each other’s cooking. Well. I like Mike’s cooking
and he is polite about mine. Which is good enough for me. My husband is my favorite
adult person and my best friend and I like every minute that I am with him.
But
I didn’t always know Mike. My mother was heavily into Women’s Liberation as I
was growing up, and always taught us that we could do anything, be anything in
our lives. You know, as Gloria Steinem so eloquently put it, "A woman needs a
man like a fish needs a bicycle." But I still gave a lot of thought to who I would
marry. Sure, I could grow up to be President, but that didn’t mean I had to stay
single. By the age of seven I was already making lists of potential lucky men.
It was not a very long list, really, though as time went by I added names.
My first choice was Fess Parker ("Daniel Boone was a man, he was a big man, with
an eye like an eagle and a nose like a beagle . . . " I might not be remembering
those lyrics exactly right.). He was so handsome and so sweet and so brave and
so handsome. Did I mention that he was so handsome? These days he owns a hotel
and winery in California. If you loved Fess Parker as I loved him (I won’t blame
you, I am not the jealous type, and besides, you never had a chance) do not look
him up on the internet. Do yourself a favor. He has aged very well. But if you
don’t look him up he will not have aged at all for you. Now I have two Fess Parkers
in my head. Poor Fess and I never met, but he did alright I guess. He looks happy.
I am so glad that he was able to find a life without me, though if he had known
I loved him everything might have been different.
Next on my list was
Hoss Cartwright. Little Joe was considered to be the good looking one I know,
but he was foolish and vain. The older one, Adam, looked like he was kind of standoffish
and might have a temper. I liked ol’ Hoss, steady as a rock, sweet, kind, generous,
strong, stalwart, brave and funny. What’s not to love? Hoss was perpetually disappointed
in love. He would meet somebody, save them from a fate worse than death and then
deliver them, with a poignant, downcast gaze to their former lover. Sometimes,
for his trouble, he would get a little kiss on the cheek. Those gals didn’t know
what they were missing. Poor ol’ Hoss. All he needed was me, and all I needed
was to be a decade or two older. I loved Hoss.
As I got a little closer
to adolescence, I added a new name to the list of my potentials. Bill Bixby. Not
"Incredible Hulk" Bill Bixby, but rather "The Courtship of Eddy’s Father" Bill
Bixby. He was handsome and funny and nice AND he obviously liked kids. Which would
be a big advantage because I was a kid. How much more perfect could things get?
Next on my list was Scotty from "Star Trek." Oh sure, Captain Kirk was the hero,
and some girls might have longed to thaw Mr. Spock out a little (remember that
episode where Spock becomes human? Whew!), and Doc was pretty handsome and intense.
But I liked Scotty.
Years ago I was a waitress at an Italian restaurant
and guess who came to dinner. Scotty! I brought Scotty his dinner and refilled
his water glass each and every time he took a sip until finally he looked up at
me. He may have initially looked up at me to see whether or not I was dangerous
in my water pouring insanity, but then our eyes met and locked. Sparks flew. We
spoke worlds in that gaze and my feet began to rise from the floor. "Thank you,"
he said, "I’m fine."
Oh. My. Heavens. It was not Scotty! I mean, I wondered
because he looked older and stouter than he looked in my mind’s eye. But this
guy had a flat, generic American accent. No brogue whatsoever. The sparks clumped
on the ground around my feet and fizzled out. Love died. "Here," I said, gently
putting the pitcher of water on the table, "call me if you need me." But I didn’t
mean it. He might need me, but . . . well, things change Scotty. People change.
Let’s try to remember the good times. |
