***
For reasons I will never understand, my wife loves to travel. (And, way too often, she wants to drag me along with her.) The destination doesn’t matter. For her, it’s about seeing new things. It’s about visiting new places. It’s about having new experiences. It’s about………. blah, blah, blah, blah.
It is, in a word, ANNOYING.
We are retired. At our age, we should be enjoying a calm, laid-back lifestyle filled with peace and tranquility. But my spouse refuses to relax and take it easy. That is not her thing.
On the other hand, I happen to think traveling is a pointless, expensive, time-consuming activity, and I utterly despise it with every fiber of my being. In other words, I don’t care for it much.
However, although I’m always reluctant to leave my comfy recliner and spectacular 75” TV, to keep the peace, I will, on occasion, grudgingly take a road trip with her. After all, making sacrifices is part of marriage.
For each excursion, my bride carefully plans our “amazing adventure” (HER description – not mine). She always includes:
- Interesting tourist sites (I prefer the more accurate term, tourist TRAPS)
- Comfortable lodging (Accommodations without suspicious stains on the sheets.)
- Restaurants that offer fine dining. (The kind where you don’t eat in the car.)
However, those pale in comparison to the importance of knowing, with laser-like precision, when and where she can seek out the soothing sanctuary of satisfaction better known as A BATHROOM.
Her more than mature bladder demands it.
So, above all else, these last-minute, life-saving locations are considered her top priority when ON THE GO. (Bad pun. Feel free to groan.) My wife maps out, with exacting detail, every mile of our journey so that she can always find the ever-elusive palace of pleasure that provides the porcelain prize.
But let me pause right here and state for the record that when I’m driving, I HATE stopping unnecessarily. If I suddenly feel the urge, I am more than willing to suffer and wait, so we can keep moving. However, that is most certainly NOT the case with my spouse.
For example, on a recent trip, the severity of one of my bride’s impending “tinkle emergencies” (HER description – not mine) became readily apparent when she broke out in a cold sweat, started squirming in her seat, and hissed through clenched teeth, “For the love of God, you better stop fooling around and find a bathroom RIGHT NOW!!!”
Observing the posted speed limit (after all, I was in no hurry), I calmly looked from one side of the road to the other, but all I saw were cows peacefully grazing in pastures. Unfortunately, we were deep in the middle of nowhere because, while my wife was napping, I had veered off of her meticulously planned route and instead took, what I believed to be, a clever shortcut that would save time by avoiding all known tourist traps (I mean attractions) – which, ironically, featured the much-needed, clean, well-lit, spacious bathrooms my petulant partner was presently pleading for.
Sadly, my helpful suggestion to my spouse that she just “hold it” for the next 50 miles until we crossed the state line provoked a shockingly emphatic high-decibel response that, I’m sure, startled the peacefully grazing cows.
At that point, I began to suspect that perhaps finding my bride a place to attain sweet relief deserved at least a small portion of my attention. Her increasingly intense wiggling, frantic leg crossing, and rapid panting confirmed my suspicion.
No longer able to dismiss my wife’s developing drama (something I’m usually quite adept at), I decided to mosey back to civilization in the hope of finding a public restroom before it was too late, and the UNSPEAKABLE OCCURRED. That was a grisly consequence too gruesome to even contemplate.
Soon, we left the open expanses of fields and meadows and entered a heavily wooded area. But although my spouse grew more desperate with each passing second, she adamantly refused to avail herself of the plethora of roadside plants that providence now provided in abundance.
Everything from trees, bushes, shrubs, and other green, leafy vegetation (such as poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac) could provide adequate privacy for my bride to answer the call of nature – or to “make a winkie.” (HER description – not mine.)
However, because my wife has an abnormal aversion to relieving herself in the great outdoors (Hey, it’s not an issue for me. Just ask our neighbors.), she decided to roll the dice and bet that I could find a bathroom in time to SAVE OUR MARRIAGE. (It was, to say the least, a risky gamble, and I did not like her odds.)
With her eyes bulging and her toes curling, my spouse began screeching, “FASTER!!! FASTER!!!”
Always attuned to my bride’s subtle suggestions, I took the hint and stepped on the gas.
After what seemed like hours (due to all the screeching) but was actually only a matter of minutes, a small strip mall with a gas station, convenience store, and laundromat finally appeared on the distant horizon. (I sincerely hoped my spouse would not require the laundromat.)
I don’t mind telling you it was a CLOSE CALL, but, miracle of miracles, we made it just in the nick of time. My wife’s waterlogged wager had paid off. Because, once again, when the chips were down, I had come through in the clutch!
As soon as we parked, my bride jumped out of the car and sprinted (not easy to do at her age) for the closest door, hurdling a large dog in the process. In a heartbeat, she had bolted into the building and vanished.
WHEW!
With the excitement over, I sat in the welcome silence reflecting on what had transpired over the last few miles. As always, I was more than happy to assist my wife with her pesky predicament, and although she will never admit it, she knows in her heart of hearts that when she said, “I do”, she WON the marriage lottery.
That is why it was somewhat disconcerting when my still-seething spouse limped back to the car (she pulled a hamstring hurdling the dog), carefully eased into her seat, and then slowly turned and faced me. Still breathing hard, it took a moment for her to speak. Obviously, I expected she would profusely thank her knight in shining armor for rescuing his damsel in distress.
But I was sorely disappointed.
Instead of being eternally grateful, the love of my life grimaced, then glared at me and growled just one word. “NUMBNUTS!!!” (HER description – not mine.)
Marital Madness 