Rooster Clock

 

One would assume, a woman striding across the finish line of her third decade, having successfully cleared the hurdles of a meaningful career (an actuary by profession) and a good marriage; would have it together.

One would not imagine, that said woman’s happiness could hinge on the result of a quiz taken in the waiting room of a dentist’s office. One also could not imagine the irony that said woman’s happiness in life would come down to numbers. One number to be exact, the answer to question four.

Neither could I.

Yet, here it was… “How many new things have you tried in the past year?”

Happy people, it appeared, scored overwhelmingly high on openness to try new things. I couldn’t think of one. My answer didn’t even rate on the scale.

*

Sitting at the table with my husband that evening my dissatisfaction grew. It had been my turn to make our Tuesday dinner, spaghetti bolognese. As I watched him try to twirl his pasta into manageable mouthfuls I was overcome with the most unexpected feeling of anger. I couldn’t stand it for another moment. I slammed my fork down on the plate.

“Carl, I want to try something new!”

He looked up in surprise. A loose noodle was dangling from the end of his fork. I wanted to grab the noodle and fling it across the room.

“Is there something you had in mind?” he finally asked.

“I want to go to Wreck Beach.”

“The one where people take off their clothes?”

“Yes, Carl. The nude beach.”

“Do you want us to take our clothes off as well?”

“Yes.”

The room was silent except for the ticking of the kitchen clock. Counting each tick, I realized the second hand of a rooster clock was counting down the fate of our marriage.

“Well,” he looked at me. “I was thinking of a running club or a new restaurant. I wasn’t expecting you to say that you wanted us to take our clothes off in front of strangers.”

I felt a moment of vindication. I’d been right.

“But…if this is what you want. Let’s try it.”

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry in relief.