My wife’s friend Winonna dropped by for a visit yesterday and I had to remain in her annoying presence for a full minute before being allowed to escape.
This torment is the result of a rule my dear wife instituted years ago called the “Courtesy Moment,” something that came about because of my habit of seeking solitude whenever any of her friends came to our home to visit.
Let me explain my desire to be elsewhere when certain friends come to call. My wife has more friends than a human being needs, and certainly more than I have or would want. But at least the very few friends I have are interesting.
My wife, a lady of charm and wit, has, in my opinion, almost no friends with either of those attributes. I am married to a woman who possesses knowledge and wisdom vast enough to compete credibly and profitably on Jeopardy, yet not one of the people she knows has enough sense to know when to buy a vowel on Wheel of Fortune—if indeed they know what a vowel is.
My sweet wife is the kind of person people want to know. They like to visit her and talk to her and unburden their miserable lives upon her, knowing that without fail, she will ease their pain and smooth out the rough path down which they trod with hanging heads and heavy hearts.
And that is the problem. I have no sympathy. It’s not that I don’t care about the tribulations people bear; I just believe that when faced with a problem, one should examine it, analyze it and determine the most reasonable and effective solution.
For example, when my doctor told me years ago that the two packs of cigarettes I was smoking every day would soon cripple and probably kill me, I quit smoking. Of course it was hard for a quite a long time, but a shortened life with cigarettes is inferior to a longer life without them. Case presented and examined; decision made; life goes on. Case closed.
This never happens in the lives of those who seek out my dear wife’s wise counsel. They try to quit smoking but gain weight. They give up the weed but lose friends when they point out their new-found understanding that smoking kills. One simpering wimp actually moaned that when she stopped smoking, she was no longer welcome in the smoke-filled break room at her job.
“They make me stay in the office and answer the phone while they smoke,” cried the tearful woman. “I have to do more work than they do now, and it’s just not fair!” The word fair was accompanied by a stomped foot and a hand slammed on the table.
Early in our marriage, when I saw one of these whimpers walking up our driveway, I ran to my study to hide until the danger passed. And the danger was that if I stayed in the room, sooner or later I would say something like, “Oh, for Pete’s sake, woman—grow up and get a life!” (This is perhaps why many of my wife’s friends think I’m unpleasant—or worse.)
It was then that my wife created the “Courtesy Moment;” I was to stay in the room, smile and make small talk, then offer a reasonable excuse and depart, still smiling.
Here is where the “Courtesy Moment” becomes sticky. How long is a moment? And what constitutes a reasonable excuse?
The dictionary defines “moment” as “a very short, minute period or portion of time.” So I would remain in the room very briefly, which was acceptable to all parties, they not wanting me around any more than I wanted to be there. The real trouble came from my “reasonable” excuses; the dictionary says reasonable is “not extreme or excessive; sane, sensible and prudent.”
My dear wife added to her definition of reasonable the word “believable.” Not wanting to tamper with the work of Webster, Roget and the folks at the Oxford English Dictionary myself, I challenged my wife to find believable as a synonym for reasonable. She is still searching; until an official term is produced, my reasonable excuses must be believable, which really takes the fun out of meeting her friends, even for a “Courtesy Moment.”
After about a minute of small talk, I used to be able to say, “Well, got to run—I’m studying for my blood test.” Another favorite was, “All my crayons melted together and I’m trying to sort them out.” Now, I must dismiss myself with something believable; “I don’t like you or anyone like you,” isn’t acceptable even though it is the truth.
I tried “I found a very sick rat in the yard—wanna see it? Do you know what the plague looks like? Maybe it’s just the flu.” When my wife’s visitor left in tears, she gave me that look that said, “Find the rat—he is your only friend.”
