Married to Mickey

It’s not always easy being married to Mickey. He traces his complexes back to first grade when his mother dressed him in a full Donald Duck costume for Halloween, and the other kids called him names and threw rocks at him because of it. I just blame his mother.

Often my friends and neighbors will say to me, ‘I saw Mickey on the street, but he didn’t recognize me.’ The only thing I can say to them is, ‘ He doesn’t recognize me out of context either.’ Sometimes, I really wonder who else he thinks would call out,

‘ Honey, honey… HONEY!!!’ to him on the street, but I prefer not to go there.

Recently he had dinner with a neighbor I’ll call Igor. A few days later, he got on the elevator with an attractive woman and assuming she was Igor’s wife,  proceeded to talk about the boys’ night out. After a while, he noticed that the woman was looking at him as if he was crazy.

‘ Aren’t you Ludmilla?’ he asked.

‘ No,’ she replied, ‘ but I do speak Russian.’

The first time I noticed he wasn’t really aware of his surroundings was when we moved to the North Shore. I was still in an exploratory mode and would often ride my bike north for a couple of hours into Winnetka and Glencoe. One day I somehow got stuck on Old Green Bay Road and kept looping between Sheridan and Greenbay. I came home exhausted and irate five hours later.

‘ I’ve been lost in the Twilight Zone, ‘ I said stripping off my gear. Mickey, not looking up from his computer, said ‘ Oh, were you gone? I didn’t notice.’

However, he must have remembered that lesson –when wife goes missing, be concerned–and filed it away for future reference.

A couple of years ago, Mickey’s sister, Nely, decided to move, and I went to pack her since that happens to be one of my outstanding talents. Nely lives a couple of hours away, and in traffic it is a bit of a drive. I got there, was delayed by the fact that Nely had prepared about ten sheets of packing paper for about twenty ceramic pots that her daughter had made. ‘That’s enough for one pot. Now go to the store and buy more paper,’ I commanded.

Once that was taken care off, I spent the day finishing the job and came home at about eight-thirty in the evening.

Mickey, napping on the sofa with his favorite cat on top of him, opened his eyes, asked me how it went and fell back asleep after listening to my entire story about traffic, paper and pots. I took a long shower, washed my hair and went to bed. About midnight I heard my cell phone ringing and thinking it must be a life or death situation leapt out of bed and ran to my office to answer it. I was surprised to hear Mickey’s voice at the other end.

‘ Where are you?’ he asked with genuine concern.

‘ I’m in my office, ‘ I answered, perplexed.

He emerged from around the corner and seeing me in a pink polka-dot nightie that my mother had bought for me [ fit for a six year old, since she still imagines me to be that age] asked, ‘ Did you just walk in the door?’

Horrified but not yet knocked off my toes, I replied, ‘ Yes, I often drive across counties in my nightie.’

Recently he came home exasperated after running some errands. It seems his eyeglasses, which he needs for night driving had gone missing. He ransacked my car and his, every drawer and jacket pocket, both of our offices, when he started in on my dresser drawers.

‘Hold on a second,’ I said, ‘ when was the last time you remember having your glasses on?’

‘Halloween,’ he replied thinking for a minute.

‘Why don’t you check if you packed them away with your Ninja scorpion costume,’ I said. Hearing a triumphant shout, I knew that I had guessed right.

Of course that still doesn’t mean that Mickey thinks I know anything. Recently I went grocery shopping, noting we were out of kitty litter. I couldn’t find the right brand at the store and went to two others in search of it. At the last stop I gave up and bought what they had, not noticing it was the clumping kind, which Mickey hates. The next day, I scooped and was on my way to the trash can. Seeing me, Mickey insisted that I flush the litter instead.

‘I don’t think I should, it might clog the pipes,’ I said.

‘No it won’t,’ Mickey insisted. Yes, no, yes, no and so it went, until I finally capitulated. The end result was that Mickey spent the rest of the day and that evening unplugging the toilet, while I went out for Vietnamese food and cocktails with my kind and empathic friends.

‘Where is Mickey?’ they asked.

‘He’s hating me right now’ I replied telling them the story.

‘He loves you, Lily,’ they assured me,’ he just has Asperger’s Syndrome.’

Postscript: Mickey just read this and is still insisting I caused the damage because I put too much litter in at once!

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Lily Temmer

I am a content creator and a website designer who creates big agency work without the overhead. What I Do: I help individuals and business owners stand out from their competition and get noticed. How I Do It: I provide website design, content creation, and digital marketing services. I help you establish a unique presence online and use that presence to dominate your local market. Why It Works: Hoping for referrals is the old way of doing business. We live in a digital world where 80% of consumers will search for or vet businesses online. Often rapid judgments are made solely on appearances. When you have seconds to make an impression, you will want it to be the right one.

9 thoughts on “Married to Mickey”

  1. I spoke with Mickey while you were having cocktails at the Vietnamese resturant…the litter blocking the toilet was certainly your fault (his side of the story). On the plus side…he has gone from Donald Duck to Ninja Scorpian. A great improvement, don’t you agree? I have you, my darling sister-in-law, to thank for that! You have added color to his life like crayolas (the humungous box offering a million different colors) do to a boring black and white coloring book. Kisses!!!

  2. Love your writing, Lily. it carries a certain subtle but significant enthusiasm throughout its presentation. One gets the feeling that life is a fantastic journey regardless of circumstance or perspective. Your stories encourage the joy and creativity life has to offer to be present inside the reader as well as the characters contained within. Iam grateful for your presence and that which you present. Thank you!

  3. This is a lovely story. It seems to me to be married to Mickey is not too bad.
    He could have asked “Ludmila” for a date.
    Love, mom

  4. I am STILL laughing over the nightgown story…. that has to be my absolute favorite situation between the two of them!!
    I LOVE these stories, and I ALWAYS look forward to reading each & every one of them!
    I am NOT saying that because Lily is my sister; more because some of the situations, at least in hindsight, are truly very funny!!
    Cmok you sister!

  5. Lily, I too look forward to your stories, and I’m neither your sister, sister-in-law, mom, or husband, so you can trust my opinions. Keep ’em comin’.

  6. Your stories are such fun. I remember the first time Predrag and I met Mickey, he laid down on the floor in Predrag’s living room and fell asleep. We were afraid he was sick, or perhaps had suffered a heart attack. No, he was just snoozing on the floor and was perfectly happy. In spite of certain Asperger’s characteristics, no one is funnier in a very clever way than Mickey and he often comes out with the best things when least expected. He is also an awesome architect. The only trouble is, he clearly hates the cats 🙂

  7. Oh, Lily, you could be a stand up comic!

    I love, love, love you and this story, just proves why.
    You are kind, thoughtful, and you make people feel happy,
    human, not perfect. You are perfect just the way you are,
    and Mickey, dear Mickey, is just right with you.

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