Bob’s “Proof” of Undying Love
BOB PULLED UP A STOOL AT HIS FAVORITE BAR AND ANNOUNCED, “My wife Suzie must love me more than any woman has ever loved any man!” “What makes you say that?” the bartender inquired. “Last week,” Bob explained, “I had to take a couple of sick days from work because I was feeling terrible. Suzie stayed home with me the entire time, cooked all my meals, brought me tea, and even read to me until I fell asleep.” The bartender nodded understandingly. “That’s very loving of her,” he agreed. “But I’m still not sure it’s proof that she loves you more than any other woman has ever loved any man.” Bob leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “She’s been poisoning me for six months!”The bartender’s eyebrows shot up. “Poisoning you? Why would she do that?”
Bob shrugged, taking a long pull from his beer. “That’s the thing, I don’t know! But think about it – the headaches, the constant tiredness, the weird metallic taste in my mouth… It all started about six months ago. And Suzie’s been in charge of all the cooking since then. Coincidence? I think not!”
The bartender leaned on the counter, considering this. “Have you… have you actually mentioned this to Suzie?”
Bob looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you kidding me? Tell her I think she’s poisoning me? She’d be heartbroken! And besides,” he lowered his voice again, “if she *is* poisoning me, she definitely wouldn’t stop if I called her out on it. It’s probably some slow-acting stuff, you know? She’s playing the long game.”
The bartender, a burly man named Tony, scratched his chin. “Well, Bob, I’m no expert on… spousal poisoning, but maybe you should get yourself checked out by a doctor? Just to be sure.”
Bob waved a dismissive hand. “Doctors, schm Doctors. They’ll just run a bunch of tests, tell me I’m stressed, and charge me a fortune. No, I’m figuring this out myself.” He took another swig of his beer, then brightened slightly. “Actually, I’ve been doing some research online. About poisons, you know. And antidotes.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “And…?”
“And I think I’ve figured it out! Arsenic! The symptoms match perfectly. And I read that milk can help counteract arsenic poisoning.” Bob puffed out his chest. “That’s why she’s been giving me tea with milk all week! She’s trying to poison me, but also give me the antidote at the same time! See? That’s love!”
Tony stared at Bob, a slow dawning of realization spreading across his face. “Bob… Suzie’s been giving you tea with milk because you’ve been sick. That’s… that’s pretty standard when someone’s unwell.”
Bob frowned, momentarily deflated. “But the metallic taste…”
Just then, a woman’s voice called out from behind Bob. “Bob? Honey, are you still here? I brought your favorite – chicken soup, just like you like it, with extra ginger!”
Bob turned, and Suzie stood there, beaming, holding a steaming container. She was a kind-faced woman with warm eyes and a gentle smile. “I thought you might be hungry after your… ‘terrible ordeal’ at work,” she said, winking.
Bob’s face flushed a deep red. He looked from Suzie’s loving smile to Tony’s knowing smirk. He suddenly felt very foolish.
“Uh, hi Suzie,” Bob mumbled, taking the soup container. He sniffed it tentatively. It smelled delicious. “Thanks, honey.”
Suzie patted his arm. “Anything for my Bob. You know I love taking care of you.” She turned to Tony, her smile widening. “He’s been so dramatic about being ‘sick’. Just a little cold, really. But he loves the attention.”
Tony chuckled. “He was just telling me all about it, Suzie.” He glanced at Bob, a mischievous glint in his eye. “He was saying how much you love him. More than any woman has ever loved any man, in fact.”
Suzie laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Bob. Always exaggerating.” She squeezed his hand. “But I do love you, you big goofball. Now, eat your soup before it gets cold.”
Bob, still slightly embarrassed but warmed by Suzie’s affection and the smell of the soup, managed a weak smile. “Okay, okay.” He took a spoonful of the soup and his eyes widened. It was delicious. And… no metallic taste.
As Suzie chatted with Tony about Bob’s “sick days”, Bob quietly ate his soup, the “poisoning” theory fading with each delicious mouthful. Maybe, just maybe, his wife really did just love him. And maybe, just maybe, he was just a bit of a hypochondriac with an overactive imagination. He decided to keep the arsenic research to himself for now. And maybe, just maybe, he should apologize to Suzie later for ever suspecting her of anything other than being wonderfully, if slightly over-attentive, loving.