My husband, the unlikely genius.

January 10, 2013 by Michelle | 3 Comments

* All names and places are a work of fiction.  Except for my Husband.  He’s the real deal.

* Also, my husband fully approved of this post before I posted it.  Another reason he’s My Man.

If you were to pass by my husband on the street, the word “genius” would probably not be the first word that would come to your mind.  With his Carhartt attire, baseball cap pulled down tight, four-wheeler parked in the driveway and hockey stick in his hand, “Hick” or “Country Boy” might seem better suited to him.  (I myself find Hicks and Country Boys quite appealing, lucky for him).

But here’s the thing:  You might pass him on the street and have no idea who he is or even think twice about him, But…….

He.   Knows.   You.

Not only does he know you–he knows EVERYTHING about you.  He knows what road you grew up on, in which house, who your parents are, what they did for a living, who you dated in high school, who you were with that night in high school you totaled your car after the Prom party and probably where you work and how long you’ve worked there.

He and I were both raised in the same small, New England Town.  Went to the same high school, drove around the same roads and know many of the same people.  The difference is, he remembers everything and I remember nothing.  I can still get lost ten miles away from my home.

Actually, one of his favorite games to play consists of us taking a long Sunday drive through back roads all over the area.  He’ll point things out here and there to me and I half-listen, nodding as though I know what he’s talking about.  Then, he’ll pull up to a 4-way intersection of unmarked dirt roads and ask me, “Okay, which way do we turn to head home”, to which I always reply ” I have no idea”.  On more than one occasion, we’ve been only a few miles from our home when he asks, “do you know where we are yet”, to which I have to reply “no”.

I HATE that game.

One day, many months ago, he and I were having a date night in one of our local restaurants, when an arbitrary man walked in.

Husband:  (Eying him like an undercover cop would eye his ‘suspect’):  “Hm.  I think that’s Jimmy Bosling’s dad”.

Me: Seriously?  Who is Jimmy Bosling?

Husband:  He was in my Freshman Algebra class.  Kind of a quiet guy.  Nice.  Kept to himself.  He dated Rebecca Sley until she dumped him for a Senior.

Me: You’re a freak.

Husband:  Yeah, I’m sure that’s his dad.  He’s kind of built like Jimmy was. I think he drives a brown convertible.

Me:  You don’t know what he drives.   You’re making that up.

Husband:  Go outside and look if you don’t believe me!  He’s driven it for years.

Naturally, I get up and walk out the front doors of the restaurant walking up and down the sidewalk scanning the parking spaces along the street until my eyes fall on an old, dark brown convertible half a block away.

Who is my Husband?  Is he really some kind of undercover FBI agent posing as a Hill-Billy?

Husband:  (Smugly watching me re-enter the restaurant and take my seat at the booth).  I’ll take my apology now.

Me:  Sorry.

This is an everyday occurrence with him.  We can’t go anywhere without him seeing someone he knows and giving me their entire Family History as well as their Geographic locations over the last twenty years.

Driving to my parents’ house for example:

Me:  So, I guess this guy Bart Redmond is going to help my parents with their sugaring this year.

Husband:  Oh yeah….Bart Redmond.  Bart the Fart they used to call him in grade school.  Oh he hated that.  My mom used to do his mom’s hair back when (Sharon Redmond.  Remember her?  She worked at the Creamery for years?)  and she’d complain about people calling him Bart the Fart.  See this Auto Parts Store right here to the left…..right there……yeah, his uncle owns it.  He’s owned it now for about 17 years.  Real good guy.  Hard worker.  He has a glass eye.   I think his uncle lives up on Grove Road.  That Blue and White house.  Sometimes I see Bart’s Blue Chevy in the driveway.

All I can do is sit in the passenger seat of the truck and let him do his thing like Rainman.

I just nod.  I don’t dare say anything.  I’m not really paying attention to the details of everyone’s lives, I’m just watching his odd genius at work.  You can almost see the lines of connections between people, places and things taking place in his eyes and underneath his “CCM” hockey cap.

It’s unsettling.

It’s unnerving.

How does he know all of this stuff?  How does he remember it all?  But the bigger question is, Why?

Me:  Oh My God, remember our first date–that long-ass bike ride I made us go on?

Husband:  Hm.  Are you sure that was our first date?  I thought we went to the Drive-In?

Me:  Um, yeah, I’m sure.  It was the bike ride.

Husband:  Huh, really.  I mean, it was kind of long time ago.  I always thought it was the Drive-In.  You sure?

Me:  Yes I’m sure!!!!  I’m sure because I almost killed myself trying to impress you!!!  I knew how “athletic” you were, being the” Captain of the Hockey Team” and all, so I thought I would try to show you my own athletic ability by inviting you on a 7-mile bike ride and I just about gave myself a heart attack in the process!!!  I REMEMBER!!!!!!   IT WAS THE BIKE RIDE NOT THE DRIVE-IN!!!!!

Husband:  Oh yeah, now I remember!  As I was getting my bike out of the back of my dad’s truck, Larry Feldman walked by and was telling me that he just moved on to this street, which I thought was so weird, because I could have sworn he’d just built a house up on Casing Hill just before he got into that Ski-Doo accident back in February of 95.  Oh man, that guy was a nut in high school.  What a crazy dude.  If you wanted to have some fun and get into trouble, he was the guy to call.  This one time, my brother and he went to Canada their Senior year……

Seriously?  He doesn’t remember I almost threw up trying to win him over?

But, it’s okay.  It really is, because Husband is my Secret Weapon.  He’s my Internal Go-To man when I need some Top Secret information, which will be VERY useful when our boys are older.

Me:  Hey honey, S asked if he could go to a party after Homecoming this weekend at an”Al” or “Alfred Begnoche’s” house?

Whaddya got on him?