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THE ARGUMENT TO END
ALL ARGUMENTS |
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My wife was driving, and I was in the passenger seat last
week. That's an unusual scenario for us, but these are unusual times.
As always, I was terrified. This mild-mannered woman, sweet
and friendly, turns into Cruella de Ville when she gets behind the wheel.
The world becomes a battlefield, and every other driver becomes the enemy.
I looked over at her and watched as her hands put a
death-grip on the steering wheel. Some idiot was firmly planted in the
fast lane and would not move to the right. Of course, this caused
her to become apoplectic.
While I feared for my life as she switched lanes and zoomed
past on the right, I also saw an opportunity while watching her blood
pressure rise.
"I've changed my mind," I announced. "I now
think I'm going to outlive you."
She didn't look at me. She was too focused on another driver
up ahead who wouldn't move over and would be the next subject of her rage.
"What do you mean?"
"I've always agreed with you when you were so sure that
you would outlive me. But look at you. Talk about being wound tight.
That's going to cost you some years."
Naturally, this prompted a lively discussion about who could
outlive the other. It's an appropriate subject, provided the word is
"outlive," rather than "dying ," which would be very
morbid. We'd never talk about that.
"Okay, I admit getting upset while I drive isn't
healthy," she graciously said. "You may be a more mellow driver,
but I eat better."
Interesting segue, but I couldn't disagree. She likes quinoa
and blueberries, I like popcorn and salami. That could play a part in the
equation, but I wasn't giving up.
"What about the Eskimo Pie you like to eat right before
dinner sometimes," I said. "And don't forget the time you
polished off an entire pint of onion dip all by yourself."
"That was about fifteen years ago," she retorted.
"I would never do that now."
"Damage is done," I smugly said. "Arteries
don't forget."
She wasn't buying it. She knew she had me on the food choice
and calorie intake, so I let it drop. Unfortunately for me, I didn't
have a lot of other examples to bring up besides her maniacal driving. It
didn't keep me from trying, though.
After getting crushed with quick discussions about sun damage
(she hasn't let unprotected sunlight touch her body in 20 years), alcohol
consumption, exercise, medical history and the pros and cons of coffee
(she drinks it, I don't), I decided to rely on geneaology.
"My maternal grandmother lived to be 100," I
proudly announced.
"And your maternal grandfather?" she asked.
I guess I should have known she'd go there. He didn't do
quite as well. Only missed by about 40 years. I should have thought about
that before bragging about how long the women in my family lived.
"Give it up," she replied. "The facts are
clear. Women all over the world just live longer than men."
I knew she was right, but since I'd rather do anything than
watch her drive, I Googled it on my iPhone.
"Aha!" I cried after a few moments of research and
silence. "Women do live longer than men, but the gap is narrowing! It
used to be 5.2 years, and now it's 3.6 years. That's negligible!"
I didn't think she could grip the steering wheel any harder,
but I was wrong. "Would it be wrong to say that I'm really going to
enjoy those 3.6 years?" she asked.
I'm pretty sure she was kidding. "I'll tell you
what," I said. "I'll bet you even odds that I will outlive you,
thanks to your overwhelming anxiety when you drive. I don't even want the
3.6 years as added points, although the bookies in Las Vegas won't be
happy."
"You're on!" she replied, a little too
enthusiastically. "What should we bet?"
That was easy. No need to go cheap, because it wouldn't be
missed. The answer was simple and she readily agreed. "Everything we
have." |
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