Life Begins...

I find myself at the end of an, alarmingly, hostile glare. Whilst this itself is not unusual, the source is. I love my wife very much, and in eleven years of marriage I have never once thought her capable of any violent act. Until now.

The rest of the evening is spent with me watching her from afar. She has been brought up with impeccable manners, and so sweeps from group to group of friends and family with ease and grace. Occasionally, I tag along to join her side, only to be left in her effervescent wake.

I can't think what it is I've done wrong. I chat with the Templetons by the buffet table and then embarrass our eleven year old daughter on the dance floor for a while. My husband defense system moves up to DEFCON 2. Mary Burnstein throws a raised eyebrow at me with all the power of a flared nostril and puffed up chest, behind it. Sandra Thornberry (Susan's best friend) shakes her head at me with a graphic display of charades depicting my head on a chopping block.

This does not look good. Moving up to DEFCON 1, I seek out Susan and see her tossing her beautiful chestnut hair over her shoulder as she talks to my poker buddy, Chris. Now I know that this has become urgent and must be defused - Susan hates Chris; she would only flirt with him to punish me.

"Hey, honey!" I breeze in between them, "Could I just borrow you for one moment - It's the caterers..."

I can feel all her muscles tense as I steer her toward a quiet corner of the room. Secretly, I have a little moment of thrilling arousal at the thought of her attacking me physically like a Bond Girl. It doesn't last long. Her muscles have turned to jelly and now I can feel the shaking tremors of tears searing through her.

"How could you, Mark?" she whimpers, and turns into my chest to muffle her sobs.

"I thought you wanted a birthday party!"

"Yes, but did you really have to plaster '40 years young!' all over the Golf Club?"

"You told me that age was relative and you were only as young as you feel. I remember it clearly: we were at the Hendersons and you said that - "

" - I remember what I said. But, I'm not forty, Mark; I'm thirty-six." An edge has started to settle into her voice and the tears are gone. "I owe you."

Oh-my-Lord, 'I owe you' - that icy phrase bites into my core and leaves me looking at the place where she had stood. She wouldn't! Not with Chris. I search the sea of faces and am relieved to see Chris has moved on and is draped over her sister's shoulder. I've lost track of her. I catch a glimpse, but before I can catch up with her, Cindy (our daughter), has barred my path.

"Are you going to be OK, Daddy?" she asks, tentatively.

"Sure, why?"

"I heard Mom talking to Mrs Hinckle. She said you were losing your memory."

Touche, my loving wife; touche. So ... this is the payback. Good ... very good. Maybe I'm out of the doghouse.

"What else did Mom tell Mrs. Hinckle, honey?"

"I couldn't hear real good, but it was something about her really being 36, and that you're taking medicine for ... for ... oh what was that word? OH! I remember! Impotency!"

(569 words)