My wife stood in front of me, holding a plastic container of frozen something-or-other. It was brown. And a bit shiny. But mostly, nondescript.
Let me say, parenthetically, that there are many questions a married man does not want to be asked by his spouse. Here are a few:
1. What do you think of my new hairdo?
2. You did what!?!
3. Does this outfit make me look ______?
4. Guess what I bought today?
5. Guess what your child did today?
I could explain each of these questions—the source from which they come, the implications of just about any given answer, and the mathematical probabilities that each answer will be right or wrong. But if you need me to explain all that to you, you’re not ready for marriage, anyway.
OK, where was I?
Oh, yeah: “Do you know what this is?”
This was an uncharacteristic question for Jo to be asking. She’s an excellent cook and has a terrific memory. So, when she cooks enough for leftovers—conventional wisdom to the contrary, a great delicacy for those of us who are “empty nesters” and don’t have an excuse to eat homemade meals every night—she usually remembers exactly what she cooked, how many servings remain and whether or not she has enough vegetables to whip up acceptable side dishes on a moment’s notice.
Shoot, she’s so good at this, I bet she could name every item in our freezer right this instant. With, of course, the possible exception of the polyurethane-soaked paintbrush I put in there because I don’t have any mineral spirits and don’t want to lose a perfectly good brush.
But there she stood, holding this plastic container of nondescript shiny-brown frozen goo.
We’ve been married for three decades, so I knew Jo had one of two possible reasons for wandering through the house to ask me if I knew what that stuff was. Like I’m an expert on cooking or something.
Sign up for our weekly edition and get all our headlines in your inbox on Thursdays
Either (a) she recently had expanded my life insurance policy or (b) she realized I’m usually so hungry and/or lame-brained I’ll try any food, any time, at least once.
The brown goo was frozen so solid I couldn’t scoop any onto my food-tasting instrument of choice, my index finger. So, we retrieved a spoon from the kitchen, and I covered the tip of it in brown goo.
“Twasts shorta lack roo-bee ashcreen,” I mumbled, the goo stuck to my tongue.
“Huh?” my wife asked.
“Tastes sorta like root-beer ice cream.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “We made some last summer.”
A great marriage is kinda like your freezer: Never know what you’ll find, but it’s typically surprising and often delightful.
We seek to connect God’s story and God’s people around the world. To learn more about God’s story, click here.
Send comments and feedback to Eric Black, our editor. For comments to be published, please specify “letter to the editor.” Maximum length for publication is 300 words.