Like many in New England, this has been a odd week for me, focused around whether or not the weather was smiling or frowning (and sometimes both at the same time). Monday I hadn't been at work very long when I, along with everyone else it seemed in Connecticut, was sent home. I had worn my store-bought fancy dress shirt and Sunday on a Monday go to meeting pants for maybe an hour and a half. I insisted to my wife I'd wear them again 'when I have to go back to work.'
Going back didn't happen Tuesday. Across the Northeast, cleaning up happened on Tuesday, where it was possible and in some places where it wasn't the heartache is palpable and, I hope, transitory.
But in my house it meant my memories of Monday's proud words had grown dim and don't even get me started on their meaning.
By the time it was preparations for Wednesday going to work, I couldn't find the tie I had been wearing. Point in fact I couldn't remember what tie I had even had on. My wife with her unerring eye for style and color coordination, marriage to me notwithstanding, sped through the closet, found a tie and matched the ensemble perfectly. As always.
As I went to move my work clothes to their staging area late Tuesday night, I made a discovery of the Monday tie hanging on the hook on the left side of the shirt hanger, right where I'd left it. What that helped explain was why it wasn't in the closet. I figured I'd handle this with that rare combination of debonair and suave that has made e the envy of men on six continents and two large but partially submerged islands.
Was sie nicht weiss, machts sie nicht heiss. What she doesn't know won't upset her. I returned my wife's more recent tie selection to the closet of its origin and knew, with just a smidgen of luck I could wear the original tie on Wednesday and she would be none the wiser. Easy money, yes sir buddy. Ask me how that all worked out, after the swelling around my nose goes down.
-bill kenny
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