Where Is My Wife?

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I’m not sure, but I think my wife has been replaced by a cyborg.

Not that there’s anything wrong with cyborgs, but this replica is way too close for comfort to the real thing. She looks the same and talks the same. She dresses like my wife and even goes to the barn to take care of Stormy, her horse. She still takes care of the house, walks Louie, and makes meals for everyone. No, this cyborg had perfected my wife’s mannerisms and idiosyncrasies until making a single, fatal mistake that almost any husband who is a sports fan would recognize immediately.

Last week on a Tuesday, she casually asked what we should do with the upcoming weekend, suggesting we invite friends over or catch a movie. Although I usually agree with either of those two plans, I was watching the ballgame at the time and kiddingly responded with a ridiculous notion. “I’d like to go to Boston and see the Mets play at Fenway Park on Saturday”, I answered, knowing full well the response would be met with an eye-roll and a light-hearted sarcastic remark.

But to my utter surprise, she simply said, “Book it. Let’s go.”

Excuse me? Thinking my plan would be met with resistance, or at least a, “What are you, insane?”, I had a whole spiel planned to play up the cultural aspects of the trip, ending with, “Then we could go to the game…” But I didn’t have to sell it at all.

You know the old saying, “opposites attract”? When it comes to a love for sports, there are no further opposites on the planet than me and my wife. Don’t get me wrong, during 35 years of marriage, she’s been a real trooper, accompanying me to many ballgames. But it’s just not her thing, you know? Getting there for the first pitch and staying for the last out are not a priority for her. And there is nothing that will ruin her day like the dreaded words, “We’re going into extra innings.”

I cautioned that although I could cancel the hotel room, I wouldn’t be able to get my money back on the game tickets. She simply said, “I told you to book it, so book it.” She even wanted to borrow a Mets shirt from one of the kids. Who is this person?

So, I did what any completely perplexed husband would do when his wife agrees with a completely ridiculous idea. I booked a trip to Boston before she could change her mind.

As Saturday approached, I wondered if there was some other nefarious reason for her agreeing to this hair-brained scheme without even hearing the details (or the projected cost). Was she going to use this against me down the road and guilt me into doing something that I would normally never agree to? Although I jumped all over this wonderful opportunity to spend the weekend with my wife and go to Fenway Park for the first time, I was a little apprehensive. My initial thought was that this couldn’t possibly be my wife, but whomever this person turns out to be, I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity.

Well, we had a lovely weekend. Turns out there was a group of over 1,600 Mets fans, from the “7-Line Army,” assembling across the street from our hotel to walk parade-style through the streets of Boston to Fenway Park. We joined the group taking over the streets and chanting “Let’s Go Mets!”, and my wife (or this reasonable facsimile), was louder than me at times. Although the Mets lost, we stayed for the entire game without any hint of leaving before the final out.

So, what do I do now? I know this can’t possibly be my wife, but is that such a bad thing? When we got home on Sunday, we were heading back out for an afternoon of music to see the band “Bad Sandwich” with some friends, and my wife-like cyborg said, “If you want to stay home and watch football, that’s OK.”

Now I know something’s not right, but who am I to rock the boat?

Paul DiSclafani, a Massapequa resident, is a 2018 Press Club of Long Island award-winning columnist and an Anton Media Group contributor since 2016.

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