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SEARCHING FOR THE
PERFECT IN-LAW |
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The garbage disposal stopped working the other day, and the
toilet was acting up. And all I could think about was how my daughter had
let me down by marrying a surfer who happens to be in sales.
"Why couldn't she have married a plumber?" I asked
my wife. "He could have come right over, fixed everything for free,
and we'd all be one big happy family."
She was on the phone, on hold, trying to get someone at $130 per
hour to come by within a week. She waved me off, as she is prone to do.
"Or an electrician, that would be nice," I
continued, thinking of the malfunctioning porch light that had gone
unfixed for about two years. "I'd love to have an electrician in the
family."
"You've got three more chances," she finally
said, referring to my daughter's three younger siblings. "Hang in
there."
I thought about my new son-in-law, who married my oldest
daughter six months ago. He was perfect for her, but what about me? His
career choice, sales, didn't bring anything to the family table. I had
needs, and he wasn't about to meet them (other than taking over the
barbecuing duties at family gatherings, which was nice).
I'm not greedy. While a plumber or electrician would be
wonderful, I'd take an orthopedic surgeon. All those mysterious aches and
pains in my knee and shoulder could be examined and discussed at every
holiday. No more wasted trips to the doctor, only to be told to ice and
rest.
But so far, I was striking out. My other daughter, who is of
marrying age, has had serious boyfriends over the years, all corporate
paper pushers. But my wife told me she was dating someone new, so I called
her up.
"What does this guy do?" I cautiously asked.
"Any chance he has a practical trade?"
"Nope," she replied. "He's in finance, and
very successful."
DAMNIT! Plumbers are successful. Electricians are successful.
"Finance" meant nothing to me. This was not going well, and I
told her so.
"Check with the boys," she replied, referring to
her two younger brothers. "Maybe they'll be able to help you."
I don't want to sound sexist, but the chance of my
heterosexual sons falling in love with a woman plumber or electrician were
pretty slim, simply because the pickings were pretty slim. And like it or
not, most orthopedic surgeons are male as well. But there was one
occupation that, if they were to marry someone in the field, would make
all my dreams come true.
Dermatologist.
What could be better than to have a dermatologist in the
family? Every time that spot occurred, or that rash, or that growth, or
that worrisome wart---instead of fretting about it for weeks and then
finally making an appointment, only to be told, hopefully, it's nothing to
worry about---what if you could just take off your shirt at the family
table and get a quick inspection? It doesn't get much better than that.
"How's it going?" I asked when I called my
oldest son, who is living with his girlfriend, whom we adore, even though
she's not a dermatologist. "Any chance anyone in your household wants
to go to medical school?"
"Sorry, Pops," he replied, knowing what I was
getting at. "She's still in advertising, and happy doing it. You're
on your own."
I was almost out of options. But hope springs eternal, and my
youngest son, who is 26, was my best chance. He recently broke up with his
long-time girlfriend, who worked in non-profit education, and was hitting
the singles market with gusto. The world was his oyster, and there was a
female dermatologist out there somewhere who couldn't wait to meet him,
fall in love, and inspect his father's skin till death or divorce.
"How's it going?" I asked when I called. "Met
any dermatoligists lately?"
"Not yet," he replied, knowing my
desires. "But I'm working on it."
"You're not trying hard enough," I whined.
"You're my last chance. I've given up on a plumber or electrician or
orthopedic surgeon, but you could still snag a dermatologist."
"Actually, I am dating someone," he slyly
offered. "But she's not a dermatologist. She's a ballerina."
Oh, whoop-de-doo. A ballerina. Garbage disposal still
broken, toilet still running, shoulder still sore, rash still spreading.
But at least I might get free tickets to "Nutcracker. " |
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