The Happy Banter of Marital Discord

“And don’t you dare embarrass me this time. You got that, Dear?” 

“When do I ever embarrass you?” 

“Every time we go out. That’s when. You always start making cutesy remarks that you think are funny. Well, take it from me, they're not, they embarrass me, and I don’t appreciate it.” 

“What’s the big deal anyway? We only go out once or twice a year.”

“Don’t get started.” 

“Okay, okay. I promise I won’t. We going to that fancy Italian place?”

“What did I tell you last night, Dear? You weren’t paying attention again, were you?” 

They got to that fancy Italian place. At the door, a young gen-something person, sex unknown, escorted them to the table of his/her choice. They took their sets directly across from each other. 

“Your waiter will be with you shortly.” Exited the host/hostess. 

“What the hell was that? One of them them trans people?” 

“Thank you for keeping that to yourself, Dear.” 

A few minutes later, a young man, mid-twenties, average height and weight, blue eyes, blonde hair in a bun on top of his head, nicely dressed in black slacks, a long-sleeved pink shirt, and a black tie, appeared and made his speech. “Hello, my name is Carson. I will be your waiter this evening.” He handed them each a menu.

“What are your specials tonight? It’s a special occasion for us, it's our anniversary.”

“Well, congratulations, Sir. How long have you been married?” 

“You mean to this woman or all of my wives together?” 

 Carson, playing straight man and in hopes of getting a big tip, delivered the set up line.  

“All together.” 

“Altogether, I’ve been married four times but only to three women for a total of forty-some years, more or less.” 

His wife glared at him. Carson picked up on it. Best change the subject. “I’ll give you two a few minutes to look over the menu, and then I’ll be back to take your orders.” Exited Carson to a couple across the room. They never did hear the specials.

“You just couldn’t resist, could you, Dear. That’s one.” 

“I just told him the truth. That’s all. You are my third wife, and my second, and fourth marriage. What’s wrong with that?” 

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with that. See our waiter over there talking to that couple over there. Well, he’s been pointing us out to them. See.” 

He looked over there. Carson was bent over, talking in the man’s ear while pointing across the room to them. 

“So.” 

“So he’s telling them what a jerk you are.”

“So what? Who cares what a bun head in a pink shirt thinks anyway? Who cares what that guy thinks? We don't even know him.” He went back to looking at his menu for the specials. 

“Well, I do because that guy he was talking to just got up and is headed our way now. Great, just great. You’ve done it this time. You screw this one up and I’m out of here. You got that, Dear? ” 

The man came over. He was about their age and a most nondescript person if there ever was one. 

“Hello, my name is Gerado, but I go by Gerrry." He offered his hand. 

“Hello, my name is Manuel, but I go by Manny."

They shook hands. 

“This is my wife, Rosa, but she—” 

“Hold on a second there. Let me guess. She goes by Rosie right?” 

“How’d you know?” 

“Just a lucky guess. I guess.” 

“Well, I guess so.” 

Gerry nodded his head towards 'Rosie.' “Nice to meet you, Rosie.” 

“It's Rosa, not Rosie.” 

He turned back to Manny. 

“My nephew just told me that it’s your anniversary and that you’ve been married four times to three women. Well, I just wanted to tell you the same goes for me too. We will be married for thirty-three years next month on the first. How long have you two been married, to each other that is?”

“Thirty-two years today.” Luckily, Manny got it right this time. 

“Well, congratulations. I guess the third time was a charm for the both of us, wasn’t it?” 

“I guess so. But in my case—” 

His wife’s harrumph interrupted him. He saw the look in her eyes that said, “Don’t you dare go there.” 

But he did. 

“My wife always likes to joke that she trapped me. She tells everyone that trapping me was like trapping a box elder bug.” 

“Box elder bug?” quizzed a nonplussed Gerry. 

“Yah. Box elder bugs, they’re not very smart, you know. She says she likes that in a man, among other things.” 

Gerry didn’t know how to respond to that, and he certainly wasn't going to take the bait and ask ‘among other things?’ So he decided to change the subject. He spotted the tattoo on Rosa’s upper arm. 

“Nice tattoo you’ve got there Rosa. A rose, how appropriate.” 

“I got it for her, for her for a wedding present after we got married, the second time that is, and had the other one she had removed for her. It said ‘property of Hell’s Angels’ or something like that. It was on her, how shall I say this, her posteriora.” Rosa purposely over loudly cleared her throat. 

That was Gerry’s cue to exit stage left, and he jumped on it.

“Well I got to go now. My wife just waved at me.” 

She hadn’t.

“Well nice meeting you two.” 

But before either of them could say, “and nice meeting you too,” he vanished. Rosa pushed her chair back and stood up. 

“That’s two and three. That does it. We’re out of here. We’re leaving.” 

“Where we going?” 

“Lupe’s. It’s just a couple of blocks from here.” 

“Lupe’s. Another Mexican restaurant. I’m sick and tired of Mexican. We have it all the time at home. It’s our anniversary. I thought we had to have something special for our anniversary.” 

“It is special. It’s homestyle cooking there.” 

“Oh. Well, that's different then.” 

Manny had no idea what homestyle cooking was. 

“And if you blow it there, I’m going home and fix myself some tacos.”

“What about me? I don’t want Mexican.” 

“You know where the gas stations are. Go there. Get yourself a hot dog, some chips, a Mountain Dew, and some twinkies for dessert. Have yourself a nice non-healthy, non-Mexican meal for a change.” 

They went to Lupe’s. The waitress seated them. 

“Any special occasion tonight folks?"

Manny looked at his wife. Her furrowed brow said it all. 

“No, just thought I’d give my wife a day off from cooking. That’s all.”

“Oh, how sweet of you, Sir.” 

“Thank you, Miss.”

At least he could tell this one was a Miss. The Dolly Parton piled high hairdo and more than ample buxom bosom gave her away.

“I’ll give you two a few minutes to look over the menu, and then I’ll be back to take your orders. Okay?” 

“Okay.” 

Exited the wannabe Dolly Parton.

“That was very sweet of you to say that, Dear. I like that.” 

“You like that I’m sweet?” 

“Yes. It's one of those, among other things, that I like about you. You know, like you not being too smart.” 

Silence for a while as they studied their menus. 

“Say,” asked Manny, “you think they got any taco sauce here?”