I don’t remember many of the specifics of the interchanges between George Burns and Gracie Allen, or Lucy and Desi, but I recall that there were many such performances that began with a ridiculous premise posited by one of the above-mentioned females, then by following a circuitous series of questions and answers, the gal would lead the man’s way of thinking through a curly-Q of semi-logic so that he too could come to the same unlikely conclusion. It was a hilarious schtick.
One of the things that I have enjoyed about my girlfriend is her tendency to come up with some similar twists of the expected. The unexpected is always surprising, sometimes baffling, sometimes shocking, sometimes funny.
Yesterday, which was a two-game day in the NFL playoffs, was a day when I was treated to several unexpected comments from my loved one.
Just to set the stage for these comments, you need to know that these comments came from a woman who, when checking the mousetrap under her sink, insists on wearing sunglasses to peer into the darkness beneath her sink. That way, she can determine whether or not a mouse has been caught, but the scene is seen only as a dimly-lit tableau of death, rather than as an HD version in all the gory details. It makes sense. Kinda. Step two of this scenario involves her calling her man (me) to dispose of any mouse remains she might have found.
Of course the man himself has his own foibles, his own eccentricities. He is reluctant to waste a whole plastic bag on each and every mouse that may be caught during the autumnal rush (four mice, total). So her man put the mouse into an opaque plastic bag and left it beside the trash in her garage with the expectation that the body of the next mouse caught would join his recently departed relative therein – consider it to be a kind of family plot approach to mouse disposal. The man knew the plan, but failed to share such details with the woman who wears sunglasses to check traps.
Trash collection day was approaching. She was gathering her trash and recycleables with the intention of putting them curbside, when she spied the curious, small plastic bag beside her trash bin. Looking inside without her sunglasses on, she was startled to see a very bug-eyed mouse corpse staring back at her from close range. She shrieked with surprise and in the process, she also flung the bag and its contents randomly away from her. Well of course, in the limited confines of the garage, the bag landed in the middle of the roof of her RAV-4 SUV.
Now I wouldn’t say that my girlfriend is vertically challenged. She claims to be five foot something, and I buy the five foot part, but the ‘something’ part seems to me like it may be more of a hope or a supposition than real, honest-to-goodness height. So here is short(ish) her standing beside her tall(ish) car, sporting a dead mouse, in a plastic bag, amid-roof. She is no shrinking violet, my gal. I’m at work, unavailable. She’s pressed for time, and she knows that she must deal with this problem on her own. She goes to get a step-stool so that she can reach the bag, she climbs up on it and of course the bag has landed, facing her, open-ended, with the dead mouse staring accusingly out with its dead but still beady, little eyes.
She was surprisingly gentle with me as she told me this story later. She might have been furious, I suppose, but she related it with a sense of the humour of the situation, just so much dead mouse-corpse baggage, while I gamely did what I always do. I took on the burdens of my miscalculation pretty much as the Captain of the Titanic might have done as the ship sank and he watched his doomed passengers try to cope with their surprise, horror and disbelief. Mea culpa!
Anyhow, that’s all just background information. Character development, for those who don’t know my girlfriend. This note was supposed to be about football and her reactions to the game.
She was not feeling well yesterday and her illness put a crimp in any thoughts we might have had in gadding about town. Instead, she invited me over during the first game, the Ravens vs. Broncos game, promising to share some curried chicken pies with me at half-time. She’s such a sweetheart! She cares nothing for football, but she has decided that I should be allowed my TV sports watching enjoyment despite her disinclination to personally engage in that pursuit, herself.
As I sat down to watch the game, I commented that she was being very big about the whole football thing. She replied, “Oh that’s okay. I enjoy seeing happy men in tight pants!” As I said, she was being very big about the whole thing.
I sat watching the game while she sat nearby doing her mending and occasionally kibbitzing with her two, unique cats, Bobbins and Daisy May, but every once in awhile she’d look up when the crowd roared and make a comment or an inquiry.
Her comments became their own entertainment and they enhanced my football-watching experience.
To wit: (after a touchdown was scored) “I can see why touchdowns are so rare. Every time one of them scores a touchdown, his team mates smack him in the head and beat him up.”
Or (as the teams were preparing for a field goal attempt) “Is he their best kicker?”
Or (in trying to make sense of the many specialty teams) “If they have a kick-off team, and a return team, and a punting team, why don’t they have a touchdown-making team?”
Like George Burns, Desi Arnez and other straight men, I found considerable pleasure in being the foil for her NFL, TV-viewing experience.
Hooray! She just called me and invited me to come watch the 1 pm game today too, complete with a ham sandwich, no less! Think I’ll bring some beer today.