Just Joshing

Don’t tell my husband.  I have harbored a long and secret attachment to a young man from my youth.

Josh Whitman is a smart and upstanding guy, a prominent Florida attorney with a beautiful wife and lovely family.  In his entire life, I doubt that he has done anything small, made a catty remark, or profited at someone else’s expense.  He is a devoted family man who does not deserve the ribbing he will get from my public revelations. 

You see, Josh and I have a few connections that can never be broken.

First, we were married once.  It was short-lived, but it was played out on the public stage for all to see.  We used aliases then—he was Mr. Bumble, and I was his devoted yet rough-hewn wife.   His commanding presence made us all “thankful” for what we received daily.  Our kids were too numerous to count.  We would probably still be together if not for that miserable Oliver!  He ratted us out after pushing him down the bannister, then feeding him cockroaches served in a canister. 

But Josh’s appeal went far beyond his natural intelligence, his commanding fifth-grade stage presence, or his pleasant demeanor.  What I loved most about Josh was his name.  As a ‘Weiss’ I was doomed from the beginning of grade school to stand at the end of the line.   I was always “last-but-not-least”—said somewhat sarcastically, or “bringing up the rear.”  But when Josh landed on the shores of North Miami Beach, he saved my life.  Not only was I now in good company, but he was even more alphabetically downtrodden than me.

Somehow, the diminutive essence of lastness wore better on Josh.  He was no tough guy, but he had a presence and self-awareness that made bullies seek elsewhere for cheap thrills.  He was nerdy to an admirable extent, yet never crossed the fine line into hapless geekdom.   I loved standing near the end of the line with Josh.  It was always safe in his shadow; a haven for perennial friendship and warm conversation.

When I got to college, I found myself in many ways--but none so important as finding myself far from the end of the line.  Among the masses there was Wenzel, Wigglesworth, Wills, Wilson, Winthrop, Wiprud, Yellin, Yung, Zickefoose, and Zoglin.   Later, I met my husband Tom.  I fell in love with his deep blue eyes and his beautiful red hair, but I always tease him that I would have married him for his “D” placement alone.  It was an elevation in status that only those of us who grew up “alphabetically-challenged” can understand.

Tomorrow's blog:  Weight, Weight!  Don't Tell Me!