For my husband’s 50th birthday yesterday, I could think of nothing better to give him than what every 50 year old man wants–a trophy wife. It was easier than I had been led to believe:

Isn't She Lovely?

I thought of it a few days ago–before his ankle injury–and I could barely contain my giggles. Originally I envisioned getting an old Barbie or such from a thrift store and whacking her legs off and slipping her torso and head over one of the many trophies stuck in boxes in the basement from my lame basketball career many lives ago, but then it occurred to me that the one trophy that is on display here–my ping pong trophy (2nd place, but since the little plate has long fallen off, no one needs to know)–would be perfect.

I was awarded that trophy a million years ago about an hour before I met Ed for the first time. Turns out the chick who beat me in the college tournament had a crush on Ed, so when the dust settled, I was the one who won the bigger trophy after all. Still I’m pissed I didn’t beat her at ping pong, too. In my defense, I was wearing a dress and bad shoes because I had just left a dinner with the president of my college and some other Jesuits and was distracted by the promise of ice cream and hot fudge when I returned.  After losing my match I rushed back to scarf down a sundae and then served the leftovers with friends to a hall full of cute guys.  I remember distinctly the look on Ed’s face when he saw me in a dress with combs in my hair (a look never repeated ever I think) with a 5 gallon tub of vanilla bean ice cream in my arms ( a look often repeated) and it was love at first sight. Previously he had loved orange sherbet, so we made a lot of progress in one evening. I owe a lot to those Jesuits and their hot fudge.  

But I digress. Once life got turned upside-down with his ankle injury, I relied on Target for the perfect Barbie, and what a Barbie she is–holding a trophy of her own.  She was outfitted so stunningly I couldn’t bear to brutalize her, and she fits so well on the ping pong trophy.  I believe I have found my artistic calling. I might as well go into business at First Fridays. A match made in Goodwill.  I especially like that one ping pong paddle is ready with a playful whack to her rear. Who am I to judge what he does with his trophy wife?

Of course little miss trophy wife ain’t much good at the schlepping, nursing, and fetching that’s going on around here now with his upcoming surgery, recovery,  and rehab, so I’m looking pretty good, too right about now, even without that dress.