Wait for Me (essay)

It is amazing to me how women keep their shape, mind their weight and look svelte even after many years of marriage. Men on the other hand, are paunchy, tummies often hanging out, baggy pants and the few remaining hairs carefully combed even brushed to cover the maximum acreage on their heads.

I began to ponder these earth-shattering issues a few years ago when a friend attended a high school reunion, which I was unable to go to. Not long after her return, my wife and I sat down to view a video of the occasion. “Who is that?” I inquired as a perky lady strutted about, in the presence of a bulky man. “Why that’s Bob’s wife,” you know the one who sat beside you in grade 10.

“But that was 50 years ago!” I exclaimed in astonishment. “She looks so young.” And she did too. The rest of the images portrayed the same scenarios, of sweet-looking ladies, all gussied up and prancing about like perky chick-a-dees. In the meantime their men shrugged along trying to keep up, their dancing toes stomping around while their wives pirouetted like ballet dancers.

The same situation seems to take place in grocery markets, where women whisk along the aisle, men huffing to catch up. We can barely recognize their familiar set of heels bustling around the next corner. Eventually us men do meet up with our loves. We simply skip the next two aisles and sneak in behind saying something like, “Hi hon, see anything new?” and masking the panting in our voice knowing we had to scurry to catch our lady of the aisles.

If unable to carry out the master plan of catching up to my precious one, by skipping a few aisles, I resort to plan ‘B’ even though it challenges our jungle prowess. After all, aren’t we the ones who conquer the worst of trails in our search for adventure, or scramble down torturous paths to that brook filled stream far below. “Honey,” I blurt out---“Wait for me!” And she does.

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© Richard L. Provencher