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October 9, 2003

How I Met My Wife

Another title for this could be "Mind Twisters from the English Language".

How I Met My Wife, published July 25, 1994 in The New Yorker, by Jack Winter

It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.

I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a  woman in a state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her  clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way.  I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I'd have to make  bones about it since I was travelling cognito.

Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very  proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn't be peccable.

Only toward and heard-of behaviour would  do.  Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the  chances that someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata or a sung hero were slim.

I was, after all,  something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a candle  to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion.  So I decided not to risk it.

But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way  that I could make heads and tails of.  I was plussed.  It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil  like me, sight seen.

Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but,  being corrigible, I felt capacitated as if this were something I was great shakes at, and forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number of times.

So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings.  Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous.

Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d'oeuvres,  trying to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps  even bunk a few myths about myself.  She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savoury character who was up to some good.  She told me who she  was.  "What a perfect nomer," I said advertently.

The conversation became more and more choate, and we spoke at length  to much avail.  But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a  godly hour.  I asked if she wanted to come with me.  To my delight, she was committal.

We left the party together and have  been together ever since. I have given her my love, and she has requited it.

Posted by elise on October 9, 2003 to Humor | Comments (1)

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Posted by: Dan Jystad at March 15, 2004 4:22 PM

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