Simple Life
My Wife’s Secret Life And why I’m happily married, blissfully in the dark
By Jim Dodson
I recently discovered that my
wife, Wendy, enjoys a secret life.
Actually, I’ve known about it for years. I just never let her know that I knew about it. It’s also possible that she’s always known that I know about it (and has chosen to keep that a secret, too). Either way, the woman is a master at keeping her husband happily married and blissfully in the dark. Consider the high drama of our recent unplanned kitchen makeover. One evening last spring, our fancy German dishwasher blew up like the Hindenburg and flooded the kitchen of the charming midcentury bungalow we’ve spent the last five years faithfully restoring. I suggested we move to Scotland. Within days, however, Wendy had rallied a small army of specialists with industrial driers, fans and blueprints for a complete renovation. Curiously, they all seemed to know my wife by her first name. Though I’m hardly the suspicious type, such fraternal bonhomie did make me momentarily wonder if Dame Wendy might have a private, second career as a kitchen subcontractor and home makeover artist. One of her not-so-secret pleasures, after all, are the makeover programs playing around the clock on HGTV, brick-and-mortar dramas where — in the span of 45 minutes — unspeakably decrepit houses are transformed into suburban show palaces by clever couples who make witty remarks about shiplap and infinity tubs. Not that I’m the jealous type, but my bride speaks so casually about home-rehab hosts Joanna and Chip Gaines or the dorky Property Brothers or that sweet, folksy couple redoing the entire town of Laurel, The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Mississippi, it’s as if she actually knows them. And I can almost picture the Good Bones gals whispering sweet nothings about rare Victorian beadboard or vintage crown molding in Dame Wendy’s wise conchlike ear. Unlike the unreality of these home makeovers, our massive kitchen “reno” took nearly a year to complete, including endless delays due to COVID-19. We upgraded the subflooring, wiring and plumbing; installed a beautiful Tuscan tile floor; searched two counties for new granite counters; and outfitted the entire kitchen with new appliances. We also ordered so many takeout meals that I considered moonlighting for Grubhub. I’ll confess, there were moments when I had beguiling dreams of misty Scotland — specifically a rather fetching one in which I am rowing a dinghy across Loch Lomond with a provocatively dressed (and pre-crazy) Kim Basinger sitting in the bow. Strictly between us, I have no idea what this dream could mean. But I’m not dinghy enough to tell my wife about it because she’ll know exactly what it means, and I really don’t want to spoil the surprise if Kim and I ever reach the other side of the loch. Besides, doesn’t a bloke deserve a few healthy secrets of his own? Sadly, I don’t have many others. Unless you count the fantasy about being the first man in history to ride his John Deere lawn tractor across America. Of course, that dream died when Wendy sold my tractor at a yard sale in Maine right before we moved to Carolina. She claims there was no room for it on the moving truck, meaning I couldn’t at least drive it home to the South and make a few bucks mowing lawns along the way. I recently heard a top marriage specialist on the radio insist that the secret to a long and happy marriage is “not having too many secrets, but enough to keep a marriage interesting.” The specialist, a female psychologist, didn’t specify how many secrets keep a marriage interesting, or conversely, how many keep a O.Henry 13
