As some of you know, my wife is expecting. Getting close too, she has about 6 weeks left.
So this weekend I'm putting together some new baby furniture and while I'm toiling away with my Allen wrenches I notice that she slyly took down my 50th anniversary commemorative poster of The Third Man from the wall of the what is soon to be the baby room. Silent as the grave, she removed it from the spot it's been in since I moved in 5 years ago and tucked it behind an old bookshelf.
What are you doing?, I ask, genuinely wanting to know what she's doing.
Putting this away, she says casually, as if removing Orson from his home is some acceptable thing to do.
Why move it at all?, I ask.
The baby won't like this scary picture looking at him, she says.
My son will not be frightened by classic works of cinema, I say. In fact, I'm hoping that poster will inspire him to appreciate the film making artform.
The baby won't like it, she concludes.
Are you saying that my son won't like Orson Welles?, I ask, feeling the room temperature rise a bit.
Larry, the baby won't care who Orson Welles is, she says definitively.
Orson Welles is a genius!, I declare.
Orson Welles is fat!, she retorts.
Stunned, and slightly wounded, I knew not what to say. How dare she imply that my son won't be a fan of the creative genius of the late, great Mr. Welles? Deflated, I left the room. Temporarily resigning Orson to his hidden fate.
Stay tuned. Divorce proceedings may be forthcoming.