Football and a back rub? Somebody pinch me |

Football and a back rub? Somebody pinch me

Rob Taylor / If Guys Could Talk
Grand County, Colorado

Found: the perfect husband. He does dishes. He makes tight beds. He vacuums and mops, sort of (using cleaning robots). He regularly attacks showers and toilets with latex gloves, bleach, Comet and Pop-Up Wipes. He does it all: cooking included.

And, although he wouldn’t voluntarily broach the subject, he has watched “You’ve Got Mail” and “Return to Me” more than once. To good to be true? Not this tall drink of water. The man known simply as Jonno is, as advertised, ALL THAT.

His omelets are to die for, so says his wife, Maria, but it’s what lies beneath the skin that she relishes: a heart like no other. One that treasures, fills and understands her own, even when it comes to the little things … like football.

“Honey, isn’t there a game on tonight?” she asks when her husband is preoccupied on Monday evenings. The question is rhetorical.

It’s not quite the opera, but Maria never misses Monday Night Football. That’s when the perfect husband rubs her back until she falls asleep ” sometimes 3 hours or longer. Every Monday night during football season. Without exception for 10 blissful years … at least he used to until the TV broke and he needed a new one.

“Whoa! That’s what I’m talking about,” Jonno said, showing Maria his idea of a replacement: an ad for a 50-inch Sony plasma TV.

“For $2,000?” his wife exclaimed. “Rrrright. Not gonna’ happen.”

“But … but, it’s on sale.”

Instead, at Best Buy, he bought something half the size with half the resolution for a third of the price … and none of the inspiration.

The drive home with his puny new TV was forgettable. The left turn into his driveway was not. That’s when a black Hummer doing 40 miles an hour slammed into him, launching and flipping the Ford Taurus. When the sedan finally came to rest, Jonno was upside-down in his own front yard, still strapped in, conscious, dazed, bloodied.

Within minutes, paramedics extracted him from the vehicle and checked his vitals. A police officer shined a flashlight in his face and said, “Sir we need to secure your vehicle. Is there someone who can move your car, or would you like us to call a tow truck?”

“Uh, this is my house,” he said pointing. Can I just leave my car here?”

He hardly finished speaking when Maria burst out the front door, nearly blinding the front lawn assembly with her lime skirt, vintage floral apron with ruffled straps and pink converse sneakers.

“Jonno!” she screamed, arms flailing, her voice an octave higher than usual.

One trip to the emergency room later, the couple returned home: Jonno in a neck collar, Maria still shaking and forever altered.

The insurance settlement covered everything: the car, the damage to the lawn, the lost TV, visits to the chiropractor. Though two months have passed, Jonno’s pain has not … so he says.

Now, on Monday nights, he catches the game on his new 50-inch Sony plasma TV ” something his wife insisted on buying. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg: for two delicious months, Jonno has enjoyed the game, sprawled out on the couch while Maria works the kinks out of his neck and back, showering him with an unending blitz of snack food.

“My chiropractor says it could take months, maybe even years for the pain to subside. Not to worry, though … my wife sure knows how to make a guy feel good,” he tells his buddies, cracking his neck with a filthy grin. “Best car wreck I ever had …”

Hmmm …. Could the perfect husband be milking it?

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