Some Gentle Ribbing

Yesterday, my wife and I played hookey together.

(Sort of.)

She is an SLP at a school and is on a week-long spring break. I have Tuesdays off so, together, yesterday, we went hiking and vintage shopping and crappy food eating and road-tripping and open-air snacking and it was pretty much a great day-- with the exception of traffic on the way back.

Rush-hour traffic.

The nice thing about being stuck in rush-hour traffic was that we were not returning from eight (or more!) non-refundable hours spent at some soul-evaporating job. We had enjoyed our day together, and were paying a very nominal price for our time of leisure. It was okay.

Yesterday was indeed a day for serendipity, and taciturn appreciation, of spotting chipmunks in the woods, joking around about who got to walk in front of whom on the white blazed trail, and singing the "Matter" patter trio from "Ruddigore" at the top of our lungs, even though there are three parts, and only two Aprons.

It was unusual to be in the company of my goodlady wife on a Tuesday. Sometimes, when I have the day off, I will drive to her school and have lunch with her, but that's just for forty-eight minutes. This was the. whole. day, and that doesn't happen often for us.

Something else happened yesterday that also doesn't happen often. My wife told me a joke. Like, a traditional, this-is-how-it-goes, set-up and punch-line joke. There are people who tell jokes. Most of them are Jewish and are named "Milton" and are over eighty years old, and they wear white shoes and have bits of months-old corned beef stuck onto their pilling sweaters. My wife is Jewish, but that's where the similarities between she and the Miltons of the world end. Still, at 9:15am yesterday morning, she propped herself up in bed on one elbow and, while I was putting on my trousers, she started to tell me a joke.

"So, Adam and Eve are lying in bed, okay? And Eve says--"

I cut her off as soon as I realized what was going on.

"Wait," I said, "are you... are you telling me a joke?"

"Yeah. So, Eve--"

"You don't tell jokes," I protested, actually somewhat alarmed. "What have you done with my wife, pea-pod person?"

"Shut up, just listen. So, Eve says to Adam, 'I think you're cheating on me,' and Adam's like, 'Don't be ridiculous, who would I cheat on you with, there's no other woman around but you?' And Eve says, 'Oh, I guess you're right, I'm just being silly.' And then Eve gently starts running her fingers gently over Adam's chest and he says, 'What are you doing?' and Eve says, 'Checking to see if you've had any of your ribs removed.'"

I laughed loudly, buckling my belt.

"That's awesome!" I said enthusiastically as I cackled.

Mrs. Apron furrowed her brow. I guess she hadn't expected me to have enjoyed the joke so heartily.

A couple minutes later, I cracked up again, just thinking about it. I referenced the joke she had told me, and made some comment about Marilyn Manson. My wife looked at me like I was bum-fucking a squid.

"What?" she asked, thoroughly confused. A silence followed as I tried to piece together why she was so puzzled.

"Wait-- wasn't that the punchline of your joke? That Adam was cheating on Eve with himself-- by removing ribs so he could suck on his own dick?"

Mrs. Apron stared at me.

"Jesus Christ, you are such a pervert! Think about it-- how did Adam make Eve?"

"OH!" I shouted, "Riiiight. Got it."

"Only you," Mrs. Apron moaned, shaking her head, "only you would go right to sucking your own dick."

"Well," I said, "I'd dip it in dark chocolate first."

And, don't you know, she still agreed to spend the entire day with me. What a girl.

What a joke.

What a life.