How very exciting, my first “blog”. So if everyone is comfy I will begin.
I appear to be a victim of my own success at the club. As you will recall I usually have a queue by my green wingback chair in the senior reading room, but like most these days I have had to specialize. I have designated Wednesdays as “Marriage Advice From Your Major Day;” otherwise there would be no time to discuss the real travesties in life such as the cutback from three to two olives in the club martinis. Outrageous!
Last Wednesday was the first time of the scheduling experiment and I thought it zipped along fairly well with very few tears. I think the case of Winford Tweed sets the tone. Old “Tweedy” has always had many good friends about the place to lean on and in fact opened up to me that chaps seemed far more understanding and more friendly than the wives in the ancient marriages “we are all lumbered with” (his words not mine, Kitty).
I have heard this cri du coeur before, often edged with a deep bitterness. A chap can spend an energetic afternoon drinking martinis, eating peanuts and chatting on a number of subjects, only to totter home to a world of frightful abuse or chilly indifference from his once closest and dearest.
I could see that this would be a two-martini session, so waited for Winford to take the hint. After he had tackled a passing waiter and my glass was again brimming, we returned to the meat and potatoes of the matter. I pointed out that his “issue” (Lord how I hate that word) was common down through the ages.
It is a little-known fact that Attila returned to his massive sheepskin tent after conquering countries hither and thither as the most powerful man on earth only to be told by his heavily mustachioed wife that there would be no din-dins until he showered, then shaved his feet and be quick about it.
I pointed out to my thunderstruck friend that unlike the young Attila, we have the upper hand particularly at our age, because there are not many of us left, that is, older fit males with all our marbles. We are, if I am not too bold, an almost extinct shrub.
I then told the story of how my wife of some 50 years, Kitty, deserted me at the local Thrifty’s meat section to have a chat with a friend in green produce. I found myself staring at flanks and turkey breasts feeling sorry for myself.
However within what seemed seconds, several mature women appeared to be taking an inordinate interest in your Major. I quickly checked my fly. No, that was not it.
I took out my hankie and madly wiped my mouth in case any chocolate milk was on my upper lip; no, not that.
After those two attempts to explain any interest in me, I was at a loss, and so just said “Er?”
With that the gaggle jumped into action, wanting to know if I was a widower and feeling my arms and legs, etc. Jolly exciting it was. Then bits of paper with phone numbers and emails were stuffed deep into my grey flannel trousers, which made me hop around a bit. I was grinning like a bishop at a brothel until Kitty suddenly appeared and rudely shooed them away.
In the car home it was a chilly atmosphere and an icicle appeared on the end of my nose. However after a silent dinner when I tried to sneak up to my study, Kitty suddenly asked about the club and even if I was happy.
The room pixillated. I rubbed my temples. Then I realized that my wife was jealous. What a shock, but it was true. I was wanted by others because there are not many semi-sane senior men left. We are rare.
The lights came back on in Tweedy’s eyes and he left with a lighter step. I think Wednesdays will fill up splendidly.
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