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September 10, 2004 11:50 AM- A Trophy Wife

There's this guy I work with who was telling me about his in-laws who are Greek immigrants and in their 70s. Apparently, the father-in-law is not doing so well and had to be put in a nursing home which left the wife in something of a difficult situation seeing as she can't drive, doesn't know how to pay the bills, can't change a lightbulb . . the list goes on.

I, of course, was in shock. Shock! They may be immigrants, but for gods sakes they've lived here for over 50 years. And you don't get a driver's license? So my colleague explains that it is a cultural thing where the father-in-law always did everything for her. Yeah. A cultural thing. Brings to mind that image in an Amy Tan book (I think it was an Amy Tan book) where the women with their bound feet come out bumbling like addled turkeys who have gone blind from being kept in the dark.

This woman has had the equivalent of foot-binding applied to her whole life. And now, her husband who kept her helpless and dependent is now out of the picture and her daughter who lives 3 hours away (and has small children) must tend to her every need. And I mean EVERY need.

Why has this bit of trivia stuck in my craw? Could it be I fear that I too am facing atrophy? I believe it is. Allow me to list out some of the ways in which my amazing husband cares for me:

~ He handles all garbage and recyclables (we live in a town where we are required to recycle) which means he has to go to the dump weekly. So 14 years times 52 weeks = 728 visits to the dump. Me? Not so much.

~ Our computers are networked and serviced by my husband (not to mention this blog which he designed, built and maintains) which means every time I have a computer crisis, he fixes it. Immediately. And he never puts me on hold. Can you imagine? A 24/7 in-house tech service that's available weekends and all major holidays? And it's free. FREE.

~ He does the laundry, cooks the meals (I DO cook, I just haven't been cooking so much lately for the last oh, about 4 years) cuts the grass (how many times have I cut the grass in 14 years? Um, twice?), is the disciplinarian with the dogs so I can be the one to spoil them rotten. You're getting the picture (and I haven't even told you how he has built everything in this house we just sold and is now in the process of designing and building the house we are moving to).

The picture is I am ATROPHYING.

Yes, I have my driver's license but where do I ever go? .5 miles to work and back? When we go anywhere together he always drives because, well, he just does. And all of this means, ATROPHY.

People, once upon a time I was a very, VERY capable woman. I killed bugs without so much as a cry for help (except daddy long leg spiders of course, I always take them outside and set them free). Changed my own lightbulbs. Cooked. I was strong and independent. I was not a blind turkey stumbling about.

What have I become? Without T, my roof would leak, my computer would be overrun with viruses, my dogs would be ill-mannered brats that chase cars and jump up on people, I would iron dirty clothes and wear them to work and hope no one noticed.

Can I tell you how much I love this guy? Wednesday night when I was hunched over my computer desperately plowing through the book manuscript that HAD to be in the mail today with every blue line correction fixed and all the new stuff in perfect order, T came around the door of my studio with a plate in his hands. I growled at the interruption. (I'll leave it to your imagination how very, very pretty I looked with hair that hadn't been washed since Sunday and my big fat gut hanging over sweat pants since I've eaten nothing but Ben & Jerry's coffee ice cream, corn chips, beer and pretzels for 4 weeks now. And, I smelled with the make-you-gag stink of stale cigarrette smoke). And yet, there was my shining golden-haired prince putting down a plate of fresh ceasar salad with warm chicken that he had made for me. And I scarfed it down and it was the first healthy food I'd had in ages. And I didn't even thank him. And I didn't even wash the plate or clean up the kitchen.

But darling? The manuscript is in the mail. This chapter of my life is over and I am so sorry that I cannot juggle three things. I am so sorry that I can only ever do two things at a time and if someone throws a third thing at me, something will land on the floor. And darling, I am so sorry I get all growly and wretched when I am in the midst of writing.

And darling--- you are the must un-fucking-believable supportive partner on the planet and I don't deserve you. But this weekend? I am going to make it up to you SO bigtime. Miss Atrophy is gonna get her butt-kicked by Ms. Lace Panties. Then we'll see who's growling.

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