Death by Marshmallow?

           For four days now Bob has been complaining of weird aurora borealis symptoms in his left eye.  As we wives do, I kept insisting he see an eye doctor until he finally got on the phone and made an appointment.  He told the gal he thought it could be a cataract, so she made him an appointment for late April.  But then she (wisely) asked him what he was seeing.  And when she realized it was not blurry vision, the symptom of a cataract, she said they had a few appointments set aside for emergencies and could get him in at 3:30 this afternoon.

            Well, of course I burst into tears.  My husband has a brain tumor mixed with eye cancer and is going blind, probably has to get right into surgery and may die.  Why else give him an emergency appointment?

            Bob hugs me and, in the comforting way only he can exhibit, says, “You know this is probably because of the time you hit me in the eye with that marshmallow.”

            Yes!  That’s right!  Three years ago we were playing a board game with the kids, and when he infuriatingly won yet again, something I cannot seem to train out of him, I grabbed one of our fancy snacks in the middle of the table (an open bag of large marshmallows) and flung it in his direction.  Incredibly, it hit him right in the eye with a satisfying thwok sound.  I couldn’t repeat this again if I tried a hundred times.  Even the kids were amazed at my marksmanship.  It was as if angels themselves had carried my missile directly to its target.

            Except that now I am responsible for his eye malfunction and must turn myself in for a delayed homicide (do they have that?).  Well, of course, I am wracked with guilt and must go along to the eye appointment because he will undoubtedly be rushed by ambulance to the hospital and I’ll need to drive the car.  Three hours and several tests later we learn that the gel in his eye is simply shrinking, but that his retina is fine.  The symptoms should go away in a few days. Bob asks the doctor if he can find bits of marshmallow in there, but he cannot.  I glare at both of them.

            Bob and I are relieved at the good news, and decide to celebrate by going out to dinner.  And thus we see that it’s a win-win for Joni and all I have to do is remember not to order anything with marshmallows on it.