While channel surfing recently, I came upon the movie “Marley and Me” - about a loopy galoot of a Labrador who had a zest for life but was endlessly disruptive.
I couldn’t help noticing the similarities to my husband, Larry.
He’s so, so Marley.
Only slightly more human.
When Larry comes home, I hide important items in preparation. While natural disasters have certain characteristics and are recognized by name, there’s no neatly acknowledged designation for the phenomenon that is Larry. Similar to a typhoon but without the extreme moisture, he wreaks havoc by just showing up.
Larry explodes through the door, generally leaving it open behind him. He’s bursting with excitement, anxiety or frustration that he can’t wait to share. As he conveys his latest tale, he throws down his briefcase, hat and assorted packages. Fragile heirlooms crash to the floor, legal documents fly and potted plants topple, spilling dirt everywhere.
When Larry comes home he’s hungry. It seems he’s always hungry. He hangs around the kitchen under the guise of helping when he’s really just hoping for a nibble before the meal’s fully cooked. Sometimes I give in but usually I kick him out if there’s the possibility of salmonella poisoning. When rejected, he behaves as if he hasn’t eaten in the last century and it’s not uncommon to see him drool.
Inexplicably, Larry never properly learned the fine art of using a fork. He rarely gets through a meal without bits and scraps tumbling through his beard and on to his clothing. This explains the numerous wildly printed floral, tie-dye, and Hawaiian shirts in his closet. Not to mention his popularity with the local dry cleaner.
In an effort to end the practice of lost glasses, wallet and keys, I bought a bowl exclusively designated to hold these items. He’s already broken it twice. Who knew you could break a bowl made of industrial strength stainless steel?
Even walking down the street together, away from the liabilities of home, he will, without exception, either trip over a sidewalk crack or have intimate contact with a signpost, fire hydrant or brick wall.
I shouldn’t laugh at his misfortunes but I do, although I always make sure to carry antiseptic, sterile pads and a variety of bandages.
So why did I marry him? Like Marley, Larry is the eternal optimist - but without the fleas. He hugs me when I’m scared. Rubs my feet when I’m tired. And listens, or at least pretends to, when I need to talk.
And best of all, he doesn’t seem to notice when my butt looks big in my jeans.
But that could be because he’s lost his glasses again.