Monday, January 15, 2007

How I Met My Wife

by Jack Winter
Published 25 July 1994 - The New Yorker

It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.

I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way.

I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make bones about it since I was travelling cognito. Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be peccable. Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.

Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata or a sung hero were slim. I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion.

So I decided not to risk it. But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make heads and tails of.

I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen. Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt capacitated -- as if this were something I was great shakes at -- and forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number of times. So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.

Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous. Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d'oeuvres, trying to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a few myths about myself.

She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory character who was up to some good. She told me who she was. "What a perfect nomer," I said, advertently. The conversation become more and more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour. I asked if she wanted to come with me. To my delight, she was committal. We left the party together and have been together ever since. I have given her my love, and she has requited it.


At 6:32 AM, Anonymous insomniac said...

i like how the two creants get together in the end...

At 7:26 AM, Blogger wysiwyg said...

Did they?!?

I wasn't too sure....

At 8:07 AM, Blogger Sarah O. said...

Whoa, insom beat me to it. He's a clever one. Good thing I'm easily timidated.

At 8:08 AM, Blogger Sarah O. said...

BTW, how're ya doin', insom? It's been a while since I heard from you!

At 8:58 AM, Blogger wysiwyg said...

Not bad, scat. Have been holidaying down the south coast as part of my post-Christmas liver recovery programme. But am now back and chained to the grindstone getting a new project launched over the next couple of weeks.

At 3:44 PM, Anonymous insomniac said...

sarah o. -check your blog, and thanks to wysiwyg for letting us converse here!

At 7:36 AM, Blogger wysiwyg said...

*peers more closely*

Ok, I admit it. My eyesight is finally going. I could have sworn she said "BTW, how're ya doin', wysiwyg".

*fires up eBay to look for cut-price reading glasses*

At 12:39 AM, Blogger Sarah O. said...

wys, actually, I am interested in how you're doin'. You know, I'm nosey that way. All right, I do like you.

Wait...NOBODY gives their liver a rest whilst on vacation!

At 7:59 AM, Blogger wysiwyg said...

Oh yes they do. Or at least *I* do.

You see, during what we refer to here as the "silly season", very little work gets done, but a lot of drinking does. There are endless Christmas parties and new years events and so forth that one feels compelled to attend lest you are considered (a) cold and distant (b) unseasonally conservative or (c) a wuss.

On holiday at the coast, however, these pressures are removed so that the level of drinking is reduced to more of a dull roar, and you at least have the option to let the hangover pass without being forced back into the fray constantly.

So you see the pressure comes off the liver on holiday. Not entirely perhaps, but substantially.

Sadly, I am now in liver recovery stage 2 - more or less total abstinence due to long hours at work.


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