Have you heard the term “rubber husband?” Though it may conjure images not fit for all audiences it is, simply, the rubber jar opener that most of us have in our overloaded-and-always-getting-jammed kitchen tchochke drawer.
One day I was trying to remove a stubborn jar lid and, since we were in the car and I don’t carry my rubber husband in my otherwise bottomless purse, I handed the jar to my other husband. As he effortlessly twisted the jar open and handed it back to me, he proudly and rhetorically asked, “There, who needs a rubber husband?” Alex, our son who is the living image of his father answers “Why, a rubber wife of course!” After Chuck and I had our giggle Alex and his brother Chris continued to discuss the possible challenges of a life shared by a rubber couple. Suddenly, Chris yelled, “Stop talking about a rubber wife, you’re making my feet tickle!” (Tickling feet is what he experiences when we are talking about open wounds or surgery.)
“Making your feet tickle? Why?” we asked.
“Because, if you stretch a rubber wife far enough she’s going to SNAP!”
Oooh, how early begin the deep and profound lessons of life!