That Flintstone’s piece reminds me of a trip my better-half made with me
for an end of season’s game.
At the time, my club and its league was on a shoestring budget. But nevertheless a college stadium had been arranged long in advance, and regardless of either club’s miserable record the game went on. There were all kinds of omens for that day – overcast skies and a labor dispute between municipal employees and this city which gave everyone no end of problems.
In any event, the last game of the season went on. In the 8 inning it started to pour, and pour, and pour. The crew officiating this game had issues with both clubs during the season and calling this game just wasn’t in the cards. We were going to get soaked, regardless.
From a gate take of about 1,500 we saw about 50 or so still in the stands. That 50 or so included wives and significant others. We sent for them to sit in the dugout with us and there was no objection from the crew.
Every once and a while, I and others with the club, would sheepishly glance over at our wives trying to get a glimpse of the “situation.” Tain’t good megee …. seemed to fit that.
After the game and all the goodbyes and good luck speeches, I went to our designated parking lot – no wife, no ride. I called for a taxi and arrived back at our motel and found the bathroom door shut, light on inside.
I stood outside that bathroom, face to the door, apologizing for the miserable day, asking whatever it was that I could do to make it up to her, and saying that I didn’t take her being with me for granted … not noticing her at the game and the miserable conditions she sat through. I even suggested a nice upscale restruant on the other side of town that I could make reservations for. I finally said that I never take her for granted, what can I do to make up for this.
I then hear from our motel room … “ who are you talking to in the bathroom?”
My wife had been sitting in an overstuffed chair watching TV, all this time. As it turned out, I walked right past her …. right to the bathroom door and started pleading my case. Closed bathroom doors, in my generation anyway, are a sure sign … there’s no joy in Mudvile.
As I glanced over with a …” oh @!#%! look on my face, I noticed the sun came out, through our motel window. “ Oh look, “ I said – “it’s stopped raining and it looks like its warming up.” Upon which my bride responded with… “ Nope, I don’t think so…”