The Mileage I Get From My Wife

I've got four cars. All duds. All hunks of junk. But my wife is gem. I get more mileage out of her than I do the automobiles.

Let me explain.

My wife continues to be a rich source, a veritable gyser, for my writing. Over the past few months I've written several essays, more than a few poems, and quite a number of blogs about her (or my warped fascination with her). But she still inspires. Some of these pieces are meant to be funny, some poignant, and others are just nuts.

But a few months back I wrote an essay about my wife that I entitled, "The Rookie". It's her story, and our family story, about my wife's "re-introduction" to college, her career change, and the path she took to become a rookie middle school teacher in her mid-40s. It was one of those essays that made my wife cry when she read it. (I like making girls cry . . . I've been doing it since the second grade when I pinched Martha Davis on the butt when she wouldn't let me climb onto the see-saw!)

But heck, I thought it was a great essay. Very personal. But I asked my wife's permission to send it to a publisher. (Man, I even ask her permission to lift the toilet seat.)

Short story. She granted permission. I sent it to a book publisher. And yesterday when the snow was piled high I opened up an email from an editor. "Wonderful work," she wrote. "We're going to publish this! And, oh well, while we're at it, we're going to pay you, too!"

Not a bad email to get on a snow day. When I get the check, I'm going to purchase a bumper sticker that reads: "I Get More Mileage From Wife Than I Do This Car!"