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Already Been Chewed by Dennis Evanosky
Dennis is my husband. We’ve been married for 47 years. It’s been fun, but there have been ups and downs like every marriage. We learn from the downs and just get better at it. We have both learned patience, even without having children.
Anyway, the story is that years ago we moved the last surviving end table from the living room into the bedroom to enjoy a second life as Dennis’ bedside table. So, the move was made, and because I am not a very good cleaner, the underneath never got cleaned. In my defense, why would it occur to anybody to clean the underside of a table?
I don’t remember why I was underneath the table. Maybe something fell and rolled under it, and I got underneath to retrieve the lost object. That sounds plausible. I wouldn’t do such a thing anymore as I can’t get down on the floor anymore. I have one of those long-handled pick-up things they use in the park to pick up trash. I use mine, however, for getting stuff off of high shelves and sometimes for getting things underneath stuff. But this story takes place years ago when I did have more of my physical faculties about me.
I was under the table and looked up.
Jesus! There had to have been 30 pieces of chewed bubble gum stuck to the bottom of the table. In our house, there are no children. Nor, at our age, adult children. No children at all. And I don’t chew gum. I got into trouble with dental work, so I avoid chewing gum and am very careful around some kinds of candy.
I asked my husband about it. I believe he said, “I don’t know.”
This is the kind of interesting argument any wife would love.
Me: Dennis?
D: What?
Me: Dennis, there have to be 30 different pieces of gum stuck up under that table. It’s gross. That’s what it is.
D: Well, I don’t remember.
Me: They are all that old? We moved that table in here ten years ago. Did you run out of room?
D: I don’t remember.
Me: Don’t do it anymore.
D: Okay
There was another gum-related game Dennis would play with me. Back when he chewed gum, he’d have a mouthful and glubbering past the gum he would say to me: How many pieces of gum do I have in my mouth?
I’d have to guess.
Me: Eight?
D: Nope.
Me: Nine?
D: Nope.
Me: I don’t know.
D: Well, guessh.
Me: Twelve?
D: Yesh. Pretty good huh?
From the age of ten, I always had crushes on the class clown. Looks like I married one.