I believe in unconditional love. I am a loyalty-type person. And I play spy games on my husband. Oh, and my uttermost hobby is getting free things from other people. One way or the other. Especially from boyfriends. Free meals. Free trips to Bermuda during hurricane season. (You know who you are, mister cheapy-peepee.) Free car service to therapy.
And, especially, men’s button-down shirts. I have 17 of them I borrowed for free over the course of my dating career. Such as it was. They hang in my closet like lifeless trophies from the mating dance of love. Luckily, they look alike so my Donnee thinks I wear the same one over and over. He doesn’t know that each shirt represents a love found, a love lost, a shirt stolen. My Donnee is OBLIVIOUS!
Now, as most of you know, I am a blogger. Being a blogger means a life filled with shattering emotional agony, search engine optimization and M&Ms.
But even harder than being a blogger is being a wife.
Understanding My Donnee: Always Sometimes!
You see, when you’re a wife, you must put up with things. Other people’s things. Of course, I didn’t know this when I tied ye olde knot in days of yore. I just thought the lucky winner would recognize what a privilege it is to put up with me. And exhibit massive loyalty should I happen to, for example, go Looney Tunes on him.
Such as if a pandemic were to hit and I happened to get COVID-19 Looney Tunes Personality Disorder (ELL–TEE–PEE–DEE). However, even absent a pandemic, a high level of loyalty from my spouse is not unreasonable.
I am, after all, me. Or as Miss Piggy would say, “moi.”
I married my Donnee four years ago, after a three-year engagement. We took our time.
{Embarrassing disclosure: we didn’t meet on Badoo. We met on eHarmony, the dating equivalent of AOL.} To clarify, I was dazzled by my Donnee’s big brown eyes, artistic gifts and ability to navigate from point A to point 11. Even when we get horrendously lost.
You, see, my Donnee rarely asks for directions. Because he is a MAN.
Now women are OK asking for directions. That’s because we don’t enjoy driving around in circles for three hours, while madly flipping the GPS on and off, on and off, and screaming, “You little mother f*&^#r. I’m gonna kill you!!!”
Sometimes, though, even my Donnee must humble himself. Like when we pulled into a gas station and he had to ask, “How do we get to Miss Mary’s Mistletoe and Hanukkah Shoppe?” The amazing thing is, the minute the gas guy starts to talk, my Donnee is nodding and smiling all over the place like he and the guy are long-lost brothers from another mother. Moreover, they’re gonna go out for coffee and discuss whether route 22 running up to North Adams, Mass, is a cultural icon.
In the meantime, I’m doing the Serendipity Prayer in the passenger seat. “University, grant me the serendipity to accept that my Donnee can be a stubborn idiot. The courage to change the sheets every two weeks. And the wisdom to know the difference.”
Love Can Triumph Over a Psycho Wipeout
Whatever you do, do not get me wrong. I love my Donnee with all my heart, lungs and kidneys. And if he ever needed somethin’ I got in me, like an organ or a piano, I’d be super happy to give it to him. For just a small fee to cover shipping & handling.
And I’m super mucho grateful that my Donnee always understands me sometimes. In fact, he recently rescued me from a total psycho wipeout by wrapping me in crepe paper and feeding me 27 M&Ms and four Graham crackers. If my Donnee had given me, say, 18 M&Ms and two crackers, I would’ve felt as deprived as a baby who’s not gettin’ enuff uh duh stuff at da nipple.
If he’d given me, say, 29 M&Ms and, God forbid, six crackers, I would’ve gained two ounces and hell woulda runneth over. This is what always understanding someone sometimes looks like.
Does Unconditional Love Preclude Spy Games?
Late one night, I decided to sneak around our basement where my Donnee hides things he doesn’t want me to see.
{Top secret disclosure: The following describes a spy game inspired by a Nintendo app that never made it out of Beta testing.} If you reveal my mission to anyone, I will personally deposit Fluffypuss and Peekaboo on your doorstep. And leave them there for a month. FYI: they are very high maintenance.}
And what did I discover as I illicitly searched my Donnee’s private stash behind his back? Three months’ worth of 100% recycled toilet paper in case, after the pandemic, there’s a billion-cicada pile-up against our windows and doors and we’re trapped. Again.
Then I found his Hero-brand automatic pill dispenser which is so complicated the company provides 24/7 tech support. Then I found my Donnee’s multi-colored Yodeling Pickle. Designed to provide endless hours of mindless entertainment. Batteries included. Great gift for the person who has everything except a yodeling pickle. If you want this, and I know you do, watch the video.
You may wonder if invading the caverns of my Donnee’s lower depths was appropriate. Was I breaking my marital-bliss loyalty oath? Was I, God forbid, crossing boundaries? Well, ya know what?! I don’t believe in boundaries! So there, you little mudpies of rectitudity and irregardlessness!
And since I don’t believe in boundaries, it follows, ergo and willy nilly, hill Billy, that I routinely reveal my every thought, feeling and revenge fantasy to my Donnee at a moment’s notice. (The best time to do so is when he’s sleeping so my words are drilled into his subconscious. Vvvrooom….)
Unconditional Love Doesn’t Preclude Spy Games
So, as I was about to spy deeper into my Donnee’s labyrinth of privacy, he suddenly sneaks up behind me and says, in a loud, snarky voice, “We have to replace this window ASAP.” “What window?” (OMG, does he know I know about the pickle?)
“The one you’re standing in front of, staring at, and looking out of. Don’t you remember?! It doesn’t open!” And then my Donnee does the unthinkable. He accuses me of being OBLIVIOUS! You know why? Because I didn’t remember that a window in the basement needed to be replaced. Well, why would I? When I don’t care about something, I. DO. NOT. LISTEN. And I. DO. NOT. REMEMBER.
Thinking about remembering reminds me of the early months of the pandemic when my neighbors and I exchanged sourdough bread recipes over the back fence.
The devil: “Liar! Liar! Pants on fire! You don’t cook or clean let alone exchange recipes!”
Me: “Oh, yeah, Mr. Red-Hot Hot-Shot! That teaches you to never believe anything anyone says anymore. Not even Mr. Rogers!”
Which brings me to lying by a heretofore trustworthy, loyalty-type person: my Donnee. Usually an unimpeachable source, he told me he’d seen dust bunnies under the sofa when he was vacuuming the rug. (I think he was playing “Dust Bunny Spy Game II.”)
Anyhoohoowaawaa, after I took my siesta, I checked out the situation. Peering under the sofa, I found not one speck of them ol’ bunnies anywhere. Liar! Liar! Pants on fire!
Unconditional Loyalty? Always Sometimes
Now here’s where unconditional love and loyalty really come in. About two months into the lockdown, my Donnee lost his marbles. I’m not kidding. One morning, he was poking around in the bathroom closet where we have a million tubes of useless creams, a vast array of OTC meds, six hairbrushes, nine shower poufs, 11 combs and 13 tubes of travel-sized toothpaste.
As if we’re ever gonna travel anywhere ever again.
Suddenly I hear my Donnee screaming, “Honeee!!! You’re not gonna believe this! The tubes and pills have expiration dates!! And they’ve all expired!!! We’ve been placebo’d!”
While I like totally believe in unconditional love and loyalty, sadly, at that moment, I had to take a break from them. You see, my Donnee’s emergency was inconvenient because I was lying on the living room rug doing my Butts of Steel isometric butt exercises. Fluffypuss was planted on my chest with her back end pressed firmly into my chin.
Concerned that, if I called out to my Donnee, I’d get a mouthful of pussybum, I lay there like a lox, enjoying her warm tushie softness nestled against my person. Finally crawling out from under, I sauntered up to the bathroom where I observed a haphazard pile of closet detritus on the tile floor.
My Donnee was lying atop the pile, whimpering, sweating and moaning.
Suddenly he started flopping around like a desperate tuna just yanked out of the ocean. I shoved some Ativan down my Donnee’s throat, dragged him by his feet into the bedroom, and left him on the rug where, snoring like a tea kettle, he slept for four hours. The pile is still there to this very day. Figuring that my Donnee loves his pile, I’ve moved my toiletries to the downstairs bathroom.
Because I know if I wait long enough, he’ll make it go away. That’s unconditional love!
Unconditional Love Isn’t Easy
Still, being my Donnee’s wife is no easy task. Like when I was sound asleep and I suddenly felt this huge yanking. The next thing I know I have no sheet, comforter or blanket on me. My Donnee, however, is wrapped cozily inside the three layers like a caterpillar in a chrysalis.
Careful not to wake the king from his much-needed slumber, I gently unwrap him just enough to have a small bit of blanket to protect me from the bitterly cold night. Well, the very next thing I know it’s 7:00 am. My Donnee rolls over towards me and says, accusingly, “I really need you to be more considerate with the blankets.”
In conclusion: my Donnee, you have my unconditional love. My true love. And my loyalty.
Very funny and hard to believe since I know you
Believe it, baby!