Page 15 of My Wife
It’s like women across the world were surveyed to compile the perfect man and this is what they produced.
Or maybe that’s just me.
I tell myself to stop drooling. Is that a symptom of having to use the bathroom?
Anyway, he’s probably married. There’s no ring on his finger, but do they make them that big? An ironic laugh comes from my throat. I’m the one in the wedding dress.
Peering around his side, I wonder if I could just tiptoe by unnoticed.
Casting me a grimace as if concerned that I’m a weirdo, he picks up the little boy.
Never mind. Time to come up with another plan.
My heart makes a cartoonish throb at the sweet sight of a huge, overgrown man with a little guy in his arms. However, that doesn’t change the fact that I really, really need to use the facilities. My, “Awww” turns into a soft whimper.
I’m not sure how much longer I can last.
To get his attention, I pat his very firm arm.
He glances at me as if remembering that there’s an annoying little fly nearby.
Time to break out the glitter guns.
I say, “It’s already a lovely day, isn’t it? Perfect for a walk in the park. A picnic perhaps. What are your plans after you so kindly let me grab that bathroom key real quick?”
He grunts and doesn’t look my way.
What does a woman in a wedding dress have to do to get his attention?
Ah! I realize the problem.
Hopping at his side, mostly so I don’t lose my bladder in the middle of the bakery, but also so he can’t ignore me, I say, “Sir, I understand how hard Mondays are before coffee, but I assure you that I’ll only take a second to grab that key … I just need to go potty.” I say the last part at a whisper.
Frowning at me, he says, “I don’t need coffee.”
I chuckle. “Tea or whatever?—”
“I don’t need anything.” His voice is a low, thundery rumble.
“Okay, well, maybe, um, you feel like doing a good deed and will just let me place my order super-fast, grab the key to the ladies’ room, and then you’ll never have to see me again.”
“Stick to that last part.”
I huff. “Rude.”
Mercifully, Nina rings up the last customer between Mr. Meanie and his precious place in line when his son starts to have a tantrum. Trust me, amigo, I want to cry too.
His arms flail and his little fingers move in a vaguely familiar way. The corner of my lip lifts and using my hands, I send him a little ray of sunshine and a rainbow from a signing song I learned when I’d go to ASL storytime with Grandma Dolly.
The child goes still and looks at me with the same blue-gray eyes as his father.
I do a few more child-friendly signs, thankful I can help even if his dad is a great big growly bear.
As if suddenly realizing the little boy is no longer a writhing, upset mess, he turns toward me, gaze hard. It lingers for a long moment. Something trips inside, sending a swizzly feeling through me.
Or maybe that’s just because I still have to pee.
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