For Thursday, January 20, 2000 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 709 words

Mrs. Gibbs, I love you

My wife, you know, proofreads all my columns. She enjoys most of them, finds fault with a few, and helps me fix my typos. The one recurring question she asks, however, is this one: "You write about all kinds of things, people, places, school, computers, fuel cells, make-believe, our dead cat, our hot tub, your old girlfriends, our freakin' software upgrades for goodness sakes. When will you write about just me?"

"Honey," I say. "I am often writing about you. You play a crucial role in many of my articles. Your name comes up a lot."

"Whatever," she says and walks out of the den.

To CMA I did a search just now for the phrase "Susan" in all my columns since 1986. It came up 211 times. The phrase "my wife" came up 219 times in 780 columns. That's 28-percent of the time that I'm mentioning my wife. She's in nearly one third of my stories. She's giving me advice, or doing something brilliant, humorous, generous, wise. She never gets mentioned in a negative light, ever. I'm usually playing the fool. She's the queen, the goddess, the heroine, the oracle, the core of my existence and my creative energies.

"Yeah, big deal," she says. "When do I get center stage?"

Well, Honey, I hope what I've said so far counts as a respectable segue into this week's column topic: Susan, my wife, and how much I love her.

I was working for Pacific Bell, visiting Phone Center Stores, conducting productivity reports, when I first met Susan Boring. I was timing how long customers had to wait for a service representative. I was at the Hilltop Mall in Richmond. It was a busy day. Waits were long. Susan came back from break, 20 minutes late.

I was upset with her in my new managerial role, as was appropriate. She was doing harm to my numbers. My chart was affected. I also noticed that she had red hair. I like red hair.

My first words to her were these: "Susan, do you know that you are 20 minutes late from break? We have customers waiting."

I expected her to apologize and tremble a bit at my firm admonishment. Instead she noticed that I was holding a small bag of See's Candy. I had taken a brief working break, as was my dutiful habit. "Oh, See's Candy," she said. "I love See's Candy." With that, she reached into my bag and took my only piece of marzipan. Marzipan is my favorite. She bit off half of it, said "Mmmmm," turned and walked away.

"Hey!" I said. "Get back here. I'm yelling at you."

"Sorry," she said. "Gotta go. We've got customers waiting." And she walked out onto the store floor. I stood there slackjawed, wondering what the company handbook would say about this situation, while at the same time marveling at the beautiful alabaster skin of her bare back tempting me from beneath her long, wonderfully red hair.

Without consulting the handbook, I did the only reasonable thing. I dated her and married her.

She has since given my life new meaning and direction. With her encouragement, I quit the phone company and pursued my desire to teach. With her encouragement, I submitted my first essay to Bob Silva, former editor of the Benicia Herald, 780 columns ago. With her encouragement, I became a responsible father and raised two wonderful children. With her encouragement, I have become a more compassionate, considerate, confident human being.

She is my muse, my sweetheart, my strength. I have been, since I was born, a one-life/one-wife kind-of-guy. For that reason, I expected to die a bachelor. What woman would have me? I'm loyal and constant, but I'm also a lot of trouble. I'm uncouth, weird, messy, eccentric, temperamental, obsessive, negligent, stubborn, fill-in-the-blank. I've had plenty of girlfriends, mostly redheads, but never wanted to burden any one of them with being stuck with me for life, for I am not cruel. Susan miraculously took the Gibbs challenge. She is now stuck with me, and I am stuck on her.

So, to all the ladies out there who pine for me, put away your Pine-Sol. I'm taken. I'm a happily married man. Susan, I love you.