She's a Hoot Alright

This is our fifth year wintering in heaven's waiting room known as Florida. I have met some truly nice couples with whom I visit occasionally. My wife seems to know everybody in this 35-homes culde' sac and they certainly know her. I have lost track of the number of people who may ask, "Is Gerry your wife?" When I affirm, I get follow ups i.e., "She's a sweetheart." "She's a hoot."

Gerry has always made friends easily. She is outgoing, unabridged and sincere. As they saying goes, "What you see is what you get." And then there was my father's description, "Gerry's as subtle as a punch in the nose." I will interject this cautionary warning; anybody mistaking her outward kindness and engaging manner for a person you could push over or criticize is in for a big surprise. I recall a few occasions when a basketball fan might go over the top with critical comments about her coach-husband or players. Woe betide to that individual. I will add that I never felt compelled to come to defense...if Gerry verbally tangled with a 'fanatic' that person was on his own and was not getting help from me.

There are two things that are essential to embrace when living with this little lady. One: Understand that she likes to touch things; everything. And usually touching is not enough, she must move the 'thing' to another location. This is problematic. My wallet and auto keys are are always placed in a  small container on op of our refrigerator, which is out of reach of the five foot-girl. Secondly, when Gerry enters a room it is wise to keep one eye on get as she moves about. I discovered this the hard way. I was on the treadmill in my downstairs den. I had the speed dial set on '4' which is a speed shy of requiring a jog but necessitating a brisk walk. As always, I'm watching a television program  that made time pass quickly. I was not focusing on Gerry who entered the room although I noticed she had a dust cloth in her hand.

Hustling along at my brisk-walking pace and engrossed on the conclusion of a television game-show, I suddenly felt the walking-belt beneath my feet kick into an unbelievable speed as the treadmill's motor noise increased. My feet flew-out from under my body as my face and torso positioned for a belly-flop! Gerry, in her dusting chore wiped her cloth across the treadmill's speed dial turning the speed to a number used by elite Olympic sprinters.

Yes sir, Buddy...she's certainly is a HOOT!
(Touch)She Makes Me Laugh