I think of my wife as the angel of death. She is half Italian, half German. A dangerous combination right there.
She’s 5 foot 8, 125 pounds, brown hair, huge brown eyes, she has a slightly bent nose where it got broken as a kid. She is small-breasted, thin waisted, and has the world’s all time greatest butt. Her legs don’t qualify with today’s stick figure model of fashion, being just a little too muscular. I like them this way.
She’s the best women’s tennis player within 100 miles, winning the club championship 5 times in a row. She gets asked not to sign up for tennis tournaments until the cut-off date, because her name on a list will scare everyone else away.
She buys Sisley face cream at like $250.00 an ounce as her one vanity.
When she wants something or is angry, there are two little lines that appear over her nose.
She’s pretty much flawless except for the incomprehensible fact that she choose to marry me. But, I’m willing to overlook that character flaw.
Her nose got broken when she was 7. Her father made her take Judo from then until she was 17 so that no bully would beat her up again, and no guy would mess with her.
I’m 6 feet tall, and hover between 210-220 pounds of muscle and bone. I played football. I boxed. I’m knowledgeable in the martial art of Bar-can-do. I fear no man.
She told me about her Judo one time after we’d been dating for 6 months or so. I offered to spar, she said “no.”
“Come on,” I said. “I won’t hurt you.” In my boxing stance, I got up, weaved around and tapped her lightly on the head with a finger as she tried to block a feint.
“Stop it. I don’t want to.”
“Let’s see what you got.” I bobbed, feinted right and tapped her on the left cheek.
“Stop.”
I laughed and kept bobbing and weaving (I was 17 and more asshole then than now.) I feinted to the belly, and came around for another tap.
Suddenly her right arm came out and blocked my right wrist. She pivoted sharply to the right, trapping the wrist and her left forearm came around and smashed into my elbow.
My right arm went completely dead and numb. It didn’t hurt, but the check was in the mail. That was for sure. Still pivoting, she brought her whole body along my left front side except for her legs. She leaned back, and we fell, her entire weight landing on my solar plexus.
She got up.
“Woooooof!” I said.
“I told you to stop.”
I couldn’t breathe, and urgent signs of pain started to shoot up my formerly numb right arm.
Elapsed time: 10 seconds.
Now, when my wife is mad, I run.
I suppose I could take her if I could catch her unawares with a large blunt object from behind. I’d still give her odds though.
Can’t beat her at Tennis, either. 6-2 is about average, though I’ve been to the club semifinals twice. I lose at Scrabble, but win at Poker. I can run faster and farther, swim better, and I’ve got her outpowered for sheer strength.
I met her at a bar when I was working at a dude ranch. She was the daughter of a guest.
I caught her eye, motioned her over with my finger and a wry smile. Curiosity got the better of her, and when she came over, I just bent down and kissed her. It’s a good trick, done properly.
It’s taken me 7 years to figure out her M.O. and consequently that’s why we are such a good couple. What she is is ruthless and highly efficient. She uses other people’s energy to destroy them when they conflict with her.
On the tennis court she uses her opponent’s pace to destroy them. They do all the work. No matter how hard or well-placed your shot, she’s anticipating and it comes right back, usually on the other side of the court. At the net she winds up on volleys. The opponent kills themselves with effort. She just rides them into the ground.
The best example of this comes from when we were still dating. She was playing doubles in a college tournament after having won the singles. She was paired with a very weak partner, and the opposing team attacked that partner ruthlessly. They hit her with the ball, and exhanged high fives. The poor girl just got more embarassed and played worse. My wife doesn’t talk to her partner when playing serious. She concentrates.
Halfway through the second set, the opposing team scrambles for a drop shot. They pop it up towards my wife’s partner. My wife slides over, winds up, and drives the ball right into the face of her opponent, breaking her glasses and knocking her down. She stands there glaring at her opponent, the two lines in her forehead showing (I call them the “I want lines.”)
Then, without apology she walks over to her partner and gives her a high five.
Lest I be giving the wrong impression, my wife is unfailingly kind and supportive. She has a wonderful honest laugh, and is liked by everybody she meets.
Her world is one of black and white in certain respects, though. It is only when you’ve foolishly opposed her and proven yourself the enemy that the Angel of Death emerges.
During the Company Christmas party one year, she had made friends with the boss of bosses wife. This guy was in charge of about 20,000 employees including myself. She, the bosses wife, and two other ladies were engrossed in conversation, when the big boss himself walks over. He says to his wife “You shouldn’t just talk to a couple of people. You should mingle and meet everybody.”
My wife walks over, taps him on the chest, and says “Excuse me, we’re having a conversation. Go away.” Then she turns her back on him. He stands there for a second, turning bright red. Then, he goes away.
I see this, and I’m practically throwing up in a corner.
We tried for several years to pregnant, and when she did, their were complications. The placenta was blocking her cervix. She spent the last two weeks in bed, slowly bleeding, but unmoving, giving our daughter every chance to develop her lungs.
Finally, she’d received as much blood as they wanted to give her (from me, my brother, and my mother who all matched.) The baby was showing signs of distress.
My best friend in the world is this areas fines Ob/Gyn. He wasn’t going to be her Doctor because we know him socially, but he’s the one they call when there’s a problem. We were playing tennis once, when Hershey medical center sent the Life Lion helicopter to a screaming landing on the driving range to fetch him for an emergency the OBs up there couldn’t handle. He comes from a school of surgery that operates very very fast.
As he and his team wheeled my wife to the surgery, he shouted at an orderly “I don’t like this bed. It has a bad wheel. When we come out, I don’t want to see this bed.”
Then he looked at me. “Don’t worry. I do this all the time.”
“Please be at your very best.” I said, as I held back tears of helplessnes that threatened to overwhelm me. This was not how I had seen my daughter coming into the world.
They took her in to prep her.
“Mr. perfect doesn’t like the bed.” I heard the orderly say to a nurse.
“Well then, you better get Mr. Perfect another bed, right away. If he comes out of there, he may want to get her somewhere fast. If that bed doesn’t work, he’ll take your head off on the spot.”
The orderly went to get another bed.
I was aproached be another man in surgical garb. There were two others, similarly garbed with him who stood back. He had a clipboard.
“Are you Mr. Scylla?”
“Yes.”
I remember his next words exactly. “In the event of complications, have you considered organ donation?”
In that moment, I realized how serious things were. Before, I’d been in a daze. My child, the one we’d tried to bring into this world for three years might die. They were here in case she did, and they wanted something.
“I’m celebrating a birth. Ask me later, if you need to.”
My doctor friend came out. He directed me into the operating theatre. I could stand by my wife’s head, and offer her moral support. I wan’t to come around the curtain. She was strapped down exactly like Mel Gibson at the end of Braveheart. The two lines in her forehead were apparent.
The anesthiologist was consulting a panel of machinery that looked like it belonged on the Space Shuttle. He was watching very carefully. I was later to learn that they wanted the Doctor to cut the moment the anesthesia took hold to avoid further distress on the baby. They were going to keep my wife very shallow.
My wife’s eyes rolled, her forehead uncrinkled, and the anesthesiologist nodded to my friend. In less than one minute my daughter was receiving her apgar test.
“Here.” the aneshesiologist said. “Hold this under your wife’s face.” It was a little bucket.
I held it by my wife’s head. She opened her eyes and threw up into it.
We were in the recovery room within 15 minutes.
“That’s why I’m so good.” My doctor friend later confided to me. “I’m so fast. The body doesn’t know it’s been cut until after it’s all closed up. Fewer complications, less trauma, less chance of infection. It’s not hurried. If you watch me, I’m never hurried, just maximally efficient. It lets me do things others won’t try.”
Our daughter was perfect and healthy.
After 3 hours in the recovery room, a nurse urged my wife out of bed. “You have to move around. It helps the healing. You have to get up and walk.”
My wife got up and hobbled a few steps. She returned to bed and started to cry. She was sweating profusely.
“You can do better than that. Come on. You have to get up. You won’t be able to go home today if you don’t get up.”
“My wife isn’t going home today.” I said.
“Yes she is.” The nurse replied.
“She just gave birth three hours ago. A caesarian. She’s staying here three days.”
“No. That’s not right. She has to get up.”
“It really hurts. I think I need something…” My wife muttered through clenched teeth.
“When did you have your last painkiller?” The nurse asked.
“She hasn’t had any.” I said.
“That’s not right,” the nurse said.
My wife said my name again. “I think I’m bleeding. Really hurts.” She was soaked with sweat.
“Get the Doctor!” I said to the nurse.
“I don’t think…”
I walked to the door and at the top of my lungs I shouted with all the urgency I could. “Doctor! Doctor! We need a Doctor Now!!! Help!”
I went back to my wife.
“What are you doing? You don’t…”
“Shut up! Leave. Get out. If you ever come back in this room I swear I will kill you. Go now.”
No harm came of the incident. My doctor friend still thinks it’s incredible that she was able to get up and stand.
It’s why we’re a good couple.
I have boundless energy. My wife has uncharted reserves.
I don’t mind playing the fool. My wife is nobody’s fool.
I am outgoing. She is reserved.
Happy birthday, honey.