* Last Friday was our
thirty-second anniversary.
Among Dr. M’s numerous assets are her prodigious problem-solving
abilities. As a result of her innate brainpower,
combined with its natural proclivity to function in that particular direction,
and augmented by her family background in apartment rentals, the accomplished
Dr. M is able to studiously examine malfunctioning gadgets, appliances and
plumbing fixtures and, considerably more often that not…
Fix them.
On the other hand – and I am about to assert that there are
two hands in this matter – Dr. M. is not – and is aware she is not – reliably counted on in our family for comedy. As an ability – I am arguing – comedy is the opposite of problem-solving, the
joke-telling serving as a covering distraction from the fact that the “funny
person” is unable to fix anything. That is the whole point – aside from ”Look at
me!” – of being funny: People laugh, and forget you’re
incompetent. At least in theory.
This dichotomy appears to be the “Rule of Thumb” in these
matters: “Problem-solver” – not funny –
“Funny” – unhelpful in virtually every imaginable regard. (Generalizations, it’s true, but still
surprisingly accurate.)
As you may have noticed, this blog rarely, if ever, dispenses
marital advice. Consider this an
exception: If you are looking for a
mate, it is best to complement your proclivities
with a partner whose natural proclivities are the opposite. You do not need two problem-solvers in one
family – that’s just a waste. Nor do you
need two comedians who, when something breaks, will simply look at each other
and shrug, and then maybe joke about it.
Though to no practical avail, however, as the thing, whatever it is, is
still broken. (And most likely laughing
at you!)
All this leading to the story’s “turnaround”, that being the
enormous surprise I experienced this morning when Dr. M, for the second or
third time in our marriage – we can neither of us remember which –
Said something funny.
During breakfast, I was reporting on a TV debate I had
watched the night before when Dr. M was out at a meeting (though she would
never have watched it in a million years, her passed-along familial belief
being that in a debate, “We like one side to win, and the other side to die!”,
and that was unlikely to take place in this situation.)
The two hour-and forty-five minute debate (I watched almost
all of it) concerned the (to a few, still controversial) issue of
evolution. The participants were the Best-Selling
Christian author Ken Ham and the Emmy
Award-winning educator Bill Nye (“The Science Guy”), the debate held at the
“Creation Museum” at Petersburg, Kentucky.
(Which, to me, appears to be not exactly “Neutral Territory”, though, to
their credit, no one in the audience shouted, “You’re going to burn in hell,
Billy Boy!” at the “Science Guy”, which, to me, displayed admirable restraint.)
Anyway, my “debate report”, as is my habit, led me to
maneuver the conversation to an associated area I knew something about (I
rarely - and who would? – maneuver the conversation into areas in which I am ignorant,
although sometimes, it turns out I know less about the subject than I originally
believed.)
The associated “area in question” was the play (1955) and
subsequent feature film (1960), Inherit
The Wind, which, “on point”, involved the dramatized retelling of the 1925
Scopes “Monkey Trial”, wherein a Tennessee schoolteacher, in violation of state
law, taught the “Theory of Evolution” to his High School science class.
I had hoped to obtain credit and adulation for naming the
original Broadway stage star of Inherit
The Wind, whom I correctly identified as the celebrated actor Paul Muni. I endeavored to win further approval and admiration by appending this little known but
fascinating factiod:
“Unfortunately, he fell off the stage.”
To which Dr. M quietly inquired,
“Every night?”
My reaction began with a momentary silence. Then I looked at her to make sure I was eating
breakfast in the right house. Then I laughed. Then I laughed harder. And then, there were torrents of tears
cascading down my shocked and utterly incredulous chuckling cheeks.
“Unfortunately, he fell off the stage.”
“Every night?”
(I immediately imagined theater patrons sitting in the
audience nudging each other, indicating, “Here it comes.”)
I could barely believe it!
Dr. M had made a joke! A
monumentally silly joke! And it was absolutely hilarious!
Problem-solvers are not supposed to do that.
And yet…she just did!
For the second or possibly third time in our marriage!
Do you know what that means?
If we make it to our “Golden Anniversary”, there will
probably be another one!
I can’t wait!
That was pretty funny!
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