I LOVE my husband.
I mean, I really love him. We live an unpredictable life we could never pull off if I didn’t love him down to his guts.
That being said-
“Hi! We’re back!” I call out.
“Hey, did you find everything you need?” my husband asks.
We’re staying at our dear friend’s house. They’re set to join us for the weekend and I want a nice dinner ready for them when they arrive.
“I did!” I beam, “and the drive to the store was so charming-all the old homes and…is something wrong? Why are you standing in the doorway like that?”
I know my husband. He has a clammy look about him as if the effort to wrack his brain for an explanation caused him to break into a fine sweat.
“I did something,” he says, “something bad.”
“What do you mean?” I marvel as I ascend the driveway to the front door, “We were gone for forty-five minutes-what could have possibly happened?”
“Well, I think it will be ok. I think I can fix it.”
“Fix it? Oh no! What happened?”
“Well,” he offers, “the story is kind of funny-see, I decided to do some yoga…”
“Yoga??? You decided to do yoga?”
This man-my husband-has not done yoga for eight years, which qualifies him as having never done yoga.
“Well it was one of Margi’s downloads and she wanted us to do handstands at the wall…”
Margi is my favorite yoga teacher on the planet.
“Okaaaay,” I say suspiciously, “are you implicating Margi?”
“Well, no, of course not. It’s just, the handstands went so well I decided to do the forearm stand in the middle of the room…”
“What???” I blurt out with a laugh of bewilderment mixed with admiration for his momentary fearlessness, “I’ve practiced yoga for fifteen years and never do a forearm stand in the middle of the room.”
“Well, I thought if I fell, I would just land on my feet again-I didn’t realize I’d flip over.”
“Oh NO!” I’m in the foyer now-both hands cover my face to shield myself from the shattered vase or broken lamp I’m about to see.
“Of course you flip over!” I say as if possessed by either Jerry Seinfeld or Larry David or both, “That’s what happens! You flip over!”
I make swirling, circular loops to complement my words with my index fingers-as if the gesture alone can undo what’s been done. I round the corner into the living room as he continues, “Well, yeah-so, I flipped over and toppled into the bench…”
“…and the corner of the bench slammed into the window.”
I freeze wide eyed at the entry way to the living room and stare at the following sight in our friends’ lovely new home.
I close my eyes and exhale all the air out of my lungs while my husband explains in the background all the various ways he can remedy the situation.
“You know,” I interrupt, “I love you so much, but sometimes I think we’re in a Will Ferrel movie.”