We've been down this road before....with Debbie.
Now it's Sylvia.
He was busted about Debbie by my daughter, when she was seven. She had overheard him talking about her, asking for her, even linking her name with Christmas. She told me she wanted to "out" him. I gave her the green light. What can I say? I'm a terrible mother. We planned it all out. My three-year-old son wanted in. We didn't think he could hang on to the information but he did. We thought we would hit husband/daddy while he was vulnerable. Right after church. We all tucked in to the minivan and, with the kids firmly buckled in the backseat, we heard a tremulous little voice.
"Daddy?" daughter said.
"Yes honey?" he replied, smoothly.
"I found out you have....a....a.....girlfriend." This was killing me. You could hear the emotion in her voice. Should I let this go on?
"I DO?" He tried to sound surprised. Cool. Cool as a cucumber.
"Yes," she quavered. "And I know her name."
"You DO?" Oh, he's just filled with snappy rejoinders under pressure.
"Yes, I do." She was hitting her stride and spoke with feeling, but also resolve. "Her name is Debbie. "Little" Debbie!
Hysterical laughter from the junior sector, which included me. The cad. Even he cracked up.
He passed this horrifying addiction on to our son who, to this day, cannot pass a Little Debbie Snack Cake without pining and begging for her plastic-texture-artery-hardening goodness. At least Grizzly Adams got over his attraction when he matured, last year. But only because she was replaced in his affections by someone more worldly, mature, exotic: Sylvia.
You think I'm going to tell you something cutesy again like he's in love with his car (though there is undying passion between him and the Jeep), or dog, or lawnmower. Huh. I wish he was in love with that lawnmower. How I long for true romance to spring up between them. Oh no. Too Terra Firma for Romeo, too mundane.
Sylvia is the new woman. She inspires him. He buys her presents. Well, truth be told he actually makes ME buy her presents that he has carefully thought out. Flavorful presents. He pets her, coddles her, attends to her every hygienic need. When he travels he longs for her. He has even been known to sneak her into hotel rooms. And to think I bankrolled this passion for our 20th anniversary. I gave him money I'd been squirrelling away for a couple of years. Here's what he did with it:
And "Rancilio" is just her last name. The company actually gives the different "models" (need I say more?) these special names.
Hey, at least she makes my coffee, too. Oh my gosh! Did I just say coffee? That's a bad word that must never be uttered in Sylvia's presence. She does NOT make coffee. Ever. She makes ESPRESSO. Her espressos can facilitate an Americano which, to the untrained palate, might TASTE like coffee. Oh sure. Just like Gallo Box Wine can taste like Dom Perignon.
She also makes cappucinos, macchiatos, and la-tee-dahs, as Grizzly calls them. He doesn't really drink those. He's an espresso/Americano man. Puts hair on your chest. And your back.
He shopped very carefully for her.....months, in fact, and settled on her because he thought she was a good value while providing extremely high-quality performance and endurance. And her parts are replaceable if they go bad. He still wonders why he didn't look for these features when choosing a wife.
But I must say she pulls her weight. Grizzly was a two-Starbucks a day man, and I dropped in there a couple of times a week. Do you know how that adds up? Well, of course you do. Most of us could have vacation homes and facelifts if it wasn't for Starbucks. Six months into this relationship Sylvia paid for herself and started making us money. So, as sister-wives go, I really can't complain. And there is something to be said for that concept. Solomon might have been on to something. Can you imagine all the writing I could get done with someone else to run the errands and clean the house? Heck, every Christmas when he asks me what I want I always request a wife. I guess Sylvia's it. She's kind of square and cold, with a hard edge to her, but her soul is stainless.
As long as she doesn't expect the same of me, we'll get along.
