strange women and fiery plane crashes

My husband has gone away forthe weekend. Yesterday morning I watched with interest as he wandered in and out of the study, rummaging through the bookshelves. He asked me, “Have you seen Silent Hill 2?”

“It’s upstairs on the bathroom counter. Still unopened.”

“Ah.” He wandered away and came back again. Was rummaging through the bookshelves.

I said, “Wasn’t it upstairs?”

“Well…uh, yeah…” A bit sheepish. “Now I’m looking for something else. Silent Hill looks too scary.”

“It’s too scary for you to play?” This is not a man who shies away from intense computer games. In fact, he gave a thumbs-down to Oblivion because it involved too much narrative and strategy, and not enough killing of zombies and mutants and creepy things.

“I want to play it in my study. Where I know I’ll be safe.”

I found that endearing.

As we hugged and kissed good-bye, I said, “You’re not allowed to sleep with strange women.” Not that I think he will; I just have this superstitious compulsion to say certain things every time he leaves on a trip (“Don’t die in a fiery plane crash” is another). “But you may flirt,” I said generously.

And as the door closed behind him, I added, “Don’t die in a fiery plane crash.”


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