One spring day a few years ago, my wife and I went for a drive.
The wind was blustery. But we didn’t care about the wind. We wanted to see the town. We wanted to say hello to it after a long winter. We wanted to smell the air and feel the wind. So we rode with all the windows open, with no radio on, and with little conversation. Our conversation was the pleasure of each other’s company.
The one drawback was the layer of winter sand on the roads. It was dry, and the wind was blowing the sand into the air and into many swirling dust devils.
As we turned the corner onto one of the side streets near the college, we noticed two college-age girls walking together along the road. They were also enjoying the day in their light spring dresses, talking and laughing together. And that was the fateful moment when two things happened at precisely the same time.
The first was that a particularly strong blast of wind blew past the girls and caught the hems of their dresses so that they both had to do a quick Marilyn Monroe stance.
I thought to myself, “If that wind had been moving just a little faster it would have blown those dresses clean up over their heads.” I promise, Stuart, there was no wishing involved.
At the same moment, a gust of wind—doubtless the same mischievous gust that had ruffled the girls’ dresses—blew dust into the car through my wife’s window and into my eyes. Another thought entered my brain: “Now would be a good time for my wife to roll up her window.” Those two thoughts met in my brain like young lovers at a garden party.
Rubbing my eyes, I asked my wife, “Honey, would you please roll up your dress?”
She wasn’t wearing a dress, Stuart. Those two girls—they were wearing dresses.
All I was able to do was drop my jaw and croak out some guttural grunting groans. By rights, my wife should have cuffed me. But instead she smiled, and broke out laughing. I pulled the car over and we laughed together. That there, Mr. McLean, is a fine example of a woman with a sense of humour.
Prince George, British Columbia