Escape to Africa

Friends: Escape to Africa


My wife escaped to Africa...another way of saying "she done left me."

After 41 years of a "blissful" marriage, she left me stranded on this island and headed for Africa with her friends. For a man's ego, that's hard to take: Why'd she go 8,000 miles, ride on a plane for 20 hours, just to escape this wonderful environment, and me, Mr. Wonderful?

I had some clues months ago that she had planned to leave me...late-night e-mails, UPS slick packages of exotic African game preserves, secretive phone calls. I admit I was alerted, but it was only when she rented "Out of Africa" starring Robert Redford and "The African Queen" with Bogart and watched them five times that I really became suspicious.

She must have gotten homesick, since she's called me regularly. On the last call she said there were some disappointments in the game preserve. Oh, the animals were wonderful, nobody on the tour had been eaten by lions, but the "tent" she saw in the brochures was not the actual tent she was given...Duh! I shudder to think, having slept in tents many times! Furthermore, she said the African plains were dry, dusty and the plants and trees brown. Where are the lush rain-forest jungles and Tarzan swinging from vines, she asked.

I asked if she'd found a Great White Hunter yet to keep her company, or at least to get a picture with...perhaps a Redford, or a Bogart. NO, that was more disappointing. Romantic notions die hard, especially when reality is faced with slick advertising!

I asked about buses...Oh yes, she said...we board buses, stand in single-file line like tourists, eyes glazed over from the early morning, shuffled out to the vineyards...but at least they could get anesthetized, and make the ride home enjoyable.

I'm not sure, but I think she kinda misses me...I'm just now getting into being a Left-behind, and my social life is improving, thanks to good friends, widows and other lonely hearts. The table has all the newspapers (week's supply--don't want to miss any news), and the place is generally clean. I can go to the Golden Isles Speedway without a curfew. Heck, if I didn't know better, I might think that maybe I am a Redford, a Bogart, if not a Tarzan...but alas, romantic notions die hard here, too!

She'll be home soon, and we'll resume our blissful marriage. But I got lucky, fellows, and I strongly advise you to keep a close tab on your spouse's activities, emails, advertising brochures from Abercrombie and Kent and rental movies...you may be able to stop madness before it occurs.


Bud
September 27, 2007