Dangerspouse Rides Again

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Garage - Track

Jul. 01, 2012 - 8:04 a.m.



Yesterday NewWifey(tm) and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary.

I can't believe it. It seems like just 5 years ago we celebrated our 6th.

It's been a pretty nifty ride for the most part. About the only thing that's changed over the last 11 years is that NewWifey(tm) now looks more like the girls in the "MILF" category at redtube.com than the "Barely 18" girls. Which may seem bad, but she still performs the same so I can usually ignore it. Besides, I can always close my eyes and imagine.

(NewWifey(tm), chiming in, says "You're starting to look like Ron Jeremy yourself, pal." What a bitch!)

Year 11 is the "Steel Anniversary". As has been our custom the past several anniversaries, ever since I inadvertently gave her a box of Brillo pads - with instructions for use - on our "Woolen (7th) Anniversary", yesterday morning NewWifey(tm) announced what I got her. (The only exception being last year, which I blogged about.)

"Hey, looky this! A retro steel fan*...and two tickets to see Jim Parsons** in the Broadway revival of "Harvey" this afternoon! You shouldn't have!"

* NewWifey(tm) is forever complaining that the interior temperature of DangerHouse in the summer approaches the boiling point of mercury, even though we live in a shaded woodland grotto and there is an industrial grade - or two - window unit air conditioner in ever single room of the house including both bathrooms and the basement storage nook we haven't been able to use since 2004 when the floor partially collapsed and I'm too cheap to fix. You can blame the demise of the polar bears on me. We create more greenhouse gasses than Mt. Etna. And even that's not enough. Every doorway between every room has a full-on 5' tall pedestal fan, oscillating and glued on "HIGH". They're constantly burning out from the strain, so 2 or 3 times a year we're at Home Depot getting another.

** To my utter astonishment, NewWifey(tm) has become a "Big Bang" fangeek. I guess "astonished" isn't really the right word, as she's both smart in the ways of Science (for a layperson), and has a decided fondness for really, really pathetic characters (witness: 11th anniversary). I just didn't think anything would be able to tear her away on a nighty basis from porn and cross-stitching her LOL-cats. Go figure.

"A Broadway show?" I said. "This afternoon? But I had kinda sorta hoped to get a round in."

"You wanted to play golf? On our wedding anniversary??"

"Well, see, I got this new steel shafted club, and I thought as your gift to me on this 'steel anniversary'...."

"Forget it. I got you this." And she handed me a Thermos. "Now get dressed and let's go. If we leave now we can just squeeze in lunch at the Edison Cafe before the show.

I have to say here that it was a very, very nice Thermos she gave me. Stainless steel body, tightly machined cap which doubles as a guaranteed-to-dribble cup, nice plastic swivel handle. I've often remarked to NewWifey(tm) that I wished I could take soup to work, since chewing food while I'm on the air is considered bad form, but none of the Tupperware containers we have are up to the task. So this was a pretty well thought out and considerate item. But still...a Thermos? As an anniversary gift? Oh well. Next year, the 12th, is silk. Maybe she'll make up for it with a set of silk restraints. Can never have too many of those.

So I got dressed and we drove to the City. My clubs stayed in the basement, my hastily concocted plan to guilt NewWifey(tm) into letting me play golf on our anniversary having failed miserably. Again.

The first thing we did after hopping off the Park-n-Ride bus at the Port Authority was hoof it over to the Edison Hotel on 47th Street. Lemme give you a bit of advice here: if you ever go to see a Broadway play and want to grab a bite near the theater but don't want to be shoehorned in with a bunch of yahoos from Iowa at some craptastic tourist trap, or startled into paying $35 for a corned beef on rye at the Carnegie Deli - 7/8 of which you have to leave on the plate because they give you 9 pounds of meat and a full loaf of bread and there's no way you're going to sit for the next 2 hours even in the Cheap Seats with something that smells like that on your lap - then go to the Edison Cafe at the Edison Hotel.

This should seal it for you: it's where local New Yawkers go when they find themselves, god forbid, in Times Square at mealtime. It's suitably run down, but not decrepit. It's got a diner ambiance, but the punched tin ceiling and embellished walls and trim give away its origin as a swanky Gilded Age ballroom catering to society swells. And the food is Real Old Deli New York, at Real Old(ish) New York prices. The matzoh ball soup is spoken of in extraordinarily reverent tones in foodie circles, locally. I personally find the homemade broth to be on the thin side, but I do agree there is no better, fluffier matzoh ball this side of Tel Aviv.

I had a hot pastrami on rye, something I would miss most if I ever moved to any other part of the world. The Edison does it as good as anyone. Not as emphatically spiced as Katz's - still my favorite - but just as tender and juicy. It's like a meat flavored ripe peach on a sandwich. And...8 dollars. Eight freakin' dollars for a giant, but not too giant, cured in-store, perfectly steamed, pastrami sandwich. Served with a thimble full of homemade coleslaw (no one eats it - it takes up room that could otherwise be used for more meat) and a full pickle. I ate the entire thing, couldn't have eaten another bite, and was happy. For 8 dollars. Did I mention that?

NewWifey(tm), true to her Midwestern bland palate roots, ordered a liverwurst and bologna double-decker on white. It came with a side of mayo, which is generally considered an insult at New York delis on anything other than turkey, but NewWifey(tm) was not put out at all. Far from it. "Ooo, it comes with mayo! I didn't even have to ask this time!" she squealed, slathering it on like spackle. You can take the girl out of the trailer....

Twenty minutes later (another plus: the Edison knows you need to eat and bolt when it's near showtime) we waddled out of the place and farted the entire 7 block walk uptown to Studio 54. Perfect timing, we arrived exactly half an hour before showtime.

Perfect seats, too. We sat in the first row of the mezzanine, absolutely dead center. Studio 54 is not a large theater so we were only back 10 or so rows from the stage, and only elevated maybe 2 bouffant wigs over the tops of the orchestra seats. I think we got the better deal too, as orchestra seating is several feet below stage level. From above we could see all the suckers who'd shelled out 150 bucks a pop, craning their necks just so they could get a good view of the casts' nasal polyps.

Anyway, the play itself was great. I enjoyed it much, much more than I thought I would. Jim Parsons is every bit as talented as NewWifey(tm) swears he is, and the rest of the cast didn't let the side down either. Additionally, after the final curtain, there was an announcement that the cast and director would hold a discussion with anyone who cared to stay. NewWifey(tm) immediately bolted to the front of the stage to hopefully catch Mr. Parson's eye, or maybe some sweat, and she wasn't disappointed. She even forgot I was still up in the mezzanine gathering her bag, her travel mug of Cabernet, and our programs. Or more likely, she just didn't care.

To cap it all off, after the audience chat she made a beeline for the side exit and was first in line for autographs at the stage door. I thought she was gonna swallow Jim Parsons like a pelican when he popped up in front of her holding a Sharpie. Then she got a rather grumpy looking Carol Kane to put her scrawl on her program when Ms. Kane had only popped her head out the door for a second looking for her friend who'd attended the performance (I think NewWifey(tm) posted a pic of the auspicious occasion on her FB page). One or two other cast members stopped and signed for her but really, after getting Sheldon's signature it was all over as far as NewWifey(tm) was concerned. She will forever have bragging rights among her equally geeky stitching friends now.

The trip home was uneventful, other than NewWifey(tm) floating the entire way. We were still full from lunch, so when we got back to DangerHouse we just tucked into a cheese platter dressed up with pear slices, a boule of good bread, and a bottle of cheap-but-fun Sicilian sparkling moscato. I couldn't stop NewWifey(tm) from watching 4 episodes back-to-back of "Big Bang Theory" while we ate. She laughed and pointed every time Sheldon made an appearance.

Finally, around midnight, we turned off the DVD player, scraped bread and cheese crumbs into Casey the Wonder Corgi's bowl, and got ready to hit the sack.

Just before we did, though, NewWifey(tm) pulled a long, thin and wrapped package out from behind the sofa.

It was a 4-hybrid golf club to go with the 5-hybrid I'd just gotten last week. The one I wanted to try instead of going to a Broadway play with her. Same model. Same Rifle steel shaft.

"You didn't think I'd give my husband a freakin' Thermos as an anniversary present, did you?"

Yes. Yes I did.

But I said, "Aw, I guessed it all along. We've been married over a decade, haven't we? I can SO predict what you're gonna do, ya little skamp."

"Yeah? Well predict this."

And we had a very, very happy start to our twelfth year of marriage.





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