Illustration by Jan A. Igoe
Husbands have baffled me ever since mine failed to thrive in captivity, like so many houseplants. Although I fed him regularly, kept his cage clean (OK, I paid the maid) and offered lots of toys, he kept trying to escape in his kayak. Ideally, men should be packaged with instructions.
When consenting adults promise to tolerate each other until death do them part, they need a sixth sense of their partner’s needs. I just needed mine to understand the degree of urgency in my screams and to rescue me accordingly. To help him out, I wrote my own manual, which covers emergency responses on page 386:
Spontaneous Screech (like front row at an AC/DC concert)
Meaning: A bug wearing the Goodyear logo is hovering in the kitchen. Immediate rescue required.
Mid-range Yelp (up there with a rocket launch)
Meaning: There’s an alligator in the pool. With the kids. Remove children before wrestling.
Full-on Panic Attack (like a trumpeting elephant)
Meaning: The cable went out while The Voice was on. Damsel in distress. Put down the beer.
Being single hasn’t stopped me from screaming, but now, only my dogs come running. And they’re just making sure I’ll be alive to feed them dinner. Reluctantly, I’ve learned to confront the menagerie of cords and connectors that juice the TV and have gone up against bugs, armed only with a can of wasp killer and an upright vacuum.
To be fair, my ex was great at all that stuff. He could assassinate bugs, cure computer viruses and un-leak rebellious toilets. He even remodeled our kitchen by himself. Well, eventually.
After a little culinary mishap, which could have happened to anyone, he bought beautiful new cabinets for our pre-war kitchen. Then he let them ripen (I’m guessing) in the garage for three years. While seasons changed and birthdays passed, our cars went homeless while the lonely cabinets waited to be invited inside. They were pleading to be installed, but in frequencies only frazzled wives can hear.
I tried to hire professional installers, but he wanted to “wait for the right time.” Like he did with the new deck, the backyard fence and other projects that required raw material to be delivered several years in advance. That spark of inspiration would eventually come, but there was no point in asking when it might ignite.
Meanwhile, somebody else’s husband built an ark in Kentucky, and his wife didn’t even nag him. A devout Christian, former science teacher Ken Ham built a full-size ark just like Noah’s to the exact dimensions outlined in the Bible. About $100 million later, his creation was 510 feet long, 85 feet wide and 5 stories tall, according to news reports. Now, it’s a successful theme park, complete with fake animals.
It’s not like I’m comparing husbands, since it would be difficult to fit an ark in my garage, but you’ve got to admire this guy’s speed. Some historians estimate it took Noah at least 50 years to build his boat. Ham did it in six. Of course, Ham had power tools, backers and Home Depot. Today, a family of four can visit the Ark Encounter for just shy of $180. It’s free for kids under 10, so leave the big ones at home.
Maybe I should have charged admission to my kitchen, which took longer to finish and had real live animals. (Family members count.) You may not experience a flood, but you might catch my next three-alarm fire.
Jan A. Igoe continues to battle belligerent bugs and defiant computers, with no training and zero natural ability. Next time she needs to update the kitchen, she’ll call Ken Ham. Maybe he’ll trade building services for a kayak. Come say hello at HumorMe@SCLiving.coop.