I got a call on Saturday that changed my life, or at least my weekend. I was out antiquing, which sounds cool when I say it, but really just involved an excuse for getting out of the house and away from the kids. I was just beginning to feel relaxed after meandering through shops examining a bunch of really old stuff, and then I got THE CALL. It was Mr. Incredible, and things at home weren’t good. They were not good at all. Here is the transcript of our phone call:
Mr. I: “Hi.”
Me: “How’s it going?”
Mr. I: “Well, things have been better. Something happened.”
Me (already slightly hysterical): “What’s going on?! Is someone sick? Did the house burn down? Have you been in an accident?”
Mr. I: “Oh no, nothing like that. It’s no big deal really. I was eating a giant gumball and broke a crown.”
Me: “NO BIG DEAL?! I can’t breathe. This is terrible. You literally have a piece of a scraggly tooth in your mouth, and you think it’s not a big deal?!”
Mr. I: “Are you serious right now? I called the dentist, and she’s going to get me in first thing on Monday morning. You probably won’t even notice it.”
The conversation continued. I will spare you every detail, but I did insist that he call the dentist back and explain that this was a life-threatening emergency, and he needed to be seen NOW, as in, prior to my return home. He did as I asked. His dentist didn’t care that this scraggle tooth was giving me palpitations and told him she’d see him Monday.
At this point I’d like to remind you that just because someone has the title “Dr.” in front of her name and wears surgical gloves five days a week, it doesn’t mean she is capable of or willing to save a person’s life. Obviously. I mean, for her, a scraggle tooth is no big deal. She looks at them all the time. It’s her job! I, however, cannot be expected to look at my husband and see something so grotesque. I said for better or worse, in sickness and in health, blah, blah, blah, but there was no mention in my vows of living with someone that had a chiseled down tooth that God meant to be covered by a crown. I couldn’t do it.
I considered going straight to a hotel and staying until Monday, but realized that was a little over-the-top, even for me. I had a hearty martini and with a new lease on life, headed home to be a supportive wife and say things like, “It’s no big deal. It’ll be fixed before we know it! Would you like me to make you some mashed potatoes?” And then I got home.
I saw the tooth, or lack thereof, the minute I pulled in the driveway, through the window, three rooms away. It may as well have had a spotlight and a magnifier on it because that thing jumped out and screamed my name. I couldn’t look away. I closed my eyes and still saw it. I could even see it when Mr. I. had his mouth shut.
He began to console me, which only made matters worse. I couldn’t stay in the house with that tooth. What if I woke up in the night and accidentally looked over and he was sleeping with his mouth open? What then? I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to be supportive, but it just wasn’t possible in his current condition. And then, Mr. Incredible came up with the most incredible solution.
A mask, but not just any mask. He pulled on Mitt Romney’s face, and I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life. So we spent the evening talking, laughing, and catching up, just Mitt Romney and me. Mr. Incredible’s tooth has been repaired, as has my opinion of Mitt Romney. He saved my marriage. Imagine what he could have done for America.