I love going to Paradise Cove for breakfast. My bride and I are regular fixtures there, as are several other locals — Ray and Rita, Brenda and Kelly, etc. On a recent Monday morning bright and early, we sat down at our favorite oceanfront table, and I was in a splendid mood. As I drank my first of many cups of coffee, all seemed well in the universe. The sunlight sparkled off the ocean, and even the birds seemed pleased with their status in the world.
Not long after we sat down, an actress, who is also a regular there and who shall remain nameless, sat down in the adjacent booth with her friends. She was wearing a sweatshirt which read something like, “Why Did I Bother Getting Out of Bed?”
My bride left the table for a minute when my new neighbor innocently inquired, “She is such a cute thing. Is she your daughter?” Come again? So much for my perfect day! A simple, four-word question, “Is she your daughter?” sent my good mood right down the drain, and what started on a perfect note, immediately turned into a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day! I had a compelling desire to throw some sticks and stones at the nincompoop who came up with the saying, “Sticks and stones will break your bones, but words will never harm you.”
All I could say to my curious neighbor was, “If my bride were my daughter, then I guess you could say we have been committing incest for the past 32 years.”
The terrible truth is my bride is 14 years and five months younger than I am. Some might say I robbed the cradle, but please understand I did not fall in love with her when I was in high school, and she was literally in the cradle. To be honest, I hoped that over time, the age gap between us would narrow, but that doesn’t seem to be happening. She was 14 years and five months younger when we met, and there remains 14 years and five months between us today. I don’t understand why that is, but it probably has to do with Einstein’s law of relativity.
I guess I was the one who shouldn’t have bothered getting out of bed that morning.