I thought for a good while about what I’d like to post for today and realized I couldn’t do much better than to re-post an anecdote I wrote almost five years ago (five years ago!). I’m not sure how to introduce it, except to say that sometimes life’s like that, and to give thanks to my husband’s robust sense of humour, which helped him through this and many other trials. And, of course, if you have your own, please do tell!
It happened on the way to the cottage. We got stuck in traffic, as we often do, in congestion worse than usual. Also worse than usual was the mood in the car, due to bickering between my husband and me. We were headed for a long, long drive.
My husband tried to pacify himself with an extra large coffee at the Tim Hortons drive-thru. I don’t like coffee but used to take a mouthful or two when he would douse his Tims with double sugar and double cream. Lately my husband had cut these indulgences out though, so he alone made short work of the bitter blackness.
As we continued to idle in the middle lane going pretty much nowhere, our then 4 year old son announced that he had to pee. No one can really agree on whether it’s better to have boys or girls (thank God), but there are indisputable advantages to sons when it comes to peeing in a pinch. Seizing the day, and the fact that we were barely moving, I unhooked the boy from his car seat. In inspiration I grabbed the empty Tim Horton’s coffee cup as a urinal while he stood up in the car and peed into it. My son silently followed all of my instructions with the acquiescence of the child aware he is in the midst of unusual and interesting permissiveness. When he was done, I snapped the plastic lid back on the cup, returned it to the cup holder, and re-buckled my son, feeling pretty satisfied at the efficiency of it all.
As the going nowhere waxed on, my husband got bored. He pulled out one of the harmonicas he keeps in the car. He likes to play them when he’s driving. I think it’s unsafe driving practice to play an instrument while driving, but my husband ignores me and it’s not illegal and I have to pick my battles. That’s why we have a full set of harmonicas in the car. Except that it’s rarely full. There is usually at least one harmonica missing because the kids love to play on them, and freely I allow it, and reluctantly so does my husband, and somehow the little instruments don’t always make it back to where they belong. And when they don’t, my husband blames me for it. It’s kind of The Harmonica Issue.
Anyway, on this motionless car trip, during which my husband and I have given up trying to talk to each other, he tried to entertain himself by making a little music. I was looking out the passenger window, but still saw his arm lift to bring the little silver instrument to his lips. I heard his deep inhale.
But the expectant brassy blast of sound didn’t come. Instead, flipping his head from left to right, my husband was sputtering in disgust. There was some old mushed up peanut butter and jam residue in the harmonica, and he had sucked it right into his mouth.
I knew he wanted to blame me for this incident (if I didn’t give the harmonicas to the children then they wouldn’t be able to input their lunches into them for later resurrection, blah, blah, blah). But since he wasn’t talking to me, he couldn’t. So he said nothing and I continued to look out the window, trying not to laugh.
Then, suddenly, from the corner of my eye I saw his arms waving all over the place. I turned to look. My husband’s face was red, eyes darting. There were more sputtering noises, louder and more dramatic than before. Also a good bit of cursing coming from him. His window went down, Ben stuck his head far out of it, and spat and spewed and then spewed some more.
He had tried to cleanse his mouth of the peanut butter and jam residue in his mouth. By drinking from the Tim Horton’s coffee cup.
Post printed with reluctant permission of husband.