All in Humor
The evidence is incontrovertible – I’m unreliable, faint-hearted, inept. My wife, Mary, on the other hand, is exceptional. Her superb qualities are myriad, but I will linger over just three – her brainpower, her beatific nature, and her good hair. And it is here, where – against all odds – I become the hero of this little photo-essay.
This morning, randoming around the internet, I came upon this description of Buckminster Fuller: “Mr. Fuller was an engineer, inventor, mathematician, architect, cartographer, philosopher, poet, cosmogonist, comprehensive designer and choreographer.’’ Well, yawn, big deal, I mean, who isn’t a cosmogonist? Buckminster Fuller, curse him, invented the geodesic dome. Ever been in one? Not the spacious kind you don’t feel, like at Epcot, but a pint-sized version? I have. It was the site of my first panic attack.
Recently, I tried to convince a kid on my block that the soap bubbles he was blowing were his captured thoughts drifting up to outer space and that aliens were collecting them and storing them in a glittering galactic library. He stared at me for a long moment, then said, “You think weird.”
A lot of guys have let themselves go during the pandemic. Gray roots, unkempt nails, bellies flopping over the waistband of baggy sweatpants. But not this guy. Whatever it takes, no matter what kind of crazy the world throws my way, nothing comes between me and looking good for my Lady Love. How good? Well, fellas, do you come down to breakfast every morning dressed in a tuxedo – the one you wore on your wedding day?
