Editing Ozzie

It's a little known fact (except to our old high school classmates who want to claim friendship with us) that my wife's nickname in high school was "Ozzie". Becky's maiden name was Osburn . . . and hence the reference. When she married me, she didn't have to change her monogrammed sweaters or signature cheerleader outfits. (By the way, honey, where is that cheerleader uniform? See if it still fits some evening!! Can you still wave those pom-pons?)

Becky probably got the nickname because, it was during our high school years when Ozzie bit the head off a bat on stage during one of his concerts. This might also explain, in part, what has happened to him. Doesn't rabies reduce the brain to hazel-nut size?

Recently I've been editing my wife's papers or, "working with Ozzie". It's a dizzying undertaking. There is the first reading, followed by a series of questions, where my wife quizzes me on what I just read and wonders if my editing skills are lackluster. "Does this paper make sense?" she'll ask. "Aren't you going to make any changes?"

Of course, I tell her the papers are already perfecto . . . no need to change anything. This makes for a happier marriage and if I want to criticize, I'll yell at the dog. That's what pets are for. God created these creatures to cower and hide under the couch while term papers are being read. They can sense the tension in the atmosphere.

As for Ozzie . . . I'd much rather spend a day biting the head off of bats than I would making my wife upset. I'd take rabies any day.