It started innocently enough. I had been growing a tad forgetful, losing important things like keys, rented videos, that really good cheesecake recipe, and my train of thought. I couldn't contribute anything to hot political discussions beyond, "Mmm, did you try the guacamole?" I often found myself losing my place in step class, which is a problem since I'm the instructor. My brain was obviously deteriorating because it was not getting the stimulation it needed. I read an article that claimed the only way to stay out of the nursing home was to keep the brain active by actually using it. What a concept! With this in mind (ha ha) I decided to start solving the newspaper's daily crossword puzzle. (I thought about spending a little time with my differential calculus textbook, but feared overtaxing my apparently limited resources. Best to start slow.)
This worked great, for a while. I enjoyed the crosswords, and usually got all the answers, even if I had to make some up. If the kids were doing math while I worked on the crossword, no one could accuse me of idle slothfulness, or even slothful idleness, because I was working, too. Working on my brain.
One day, it happened. I couldn't find the crossword puzzle. I looked high and low. Now, I know the puzzles were supposed to be invigorating my brain, but I was still losing stuff from time to time, so I assumed I'd misplaced it. The truth, however, was far more disturbing. My husband had taken the paper. Out of the blue, after years of ignoring those damn puzzles, he suddenly couldn't keep his hands off of them. What was he thinking? Didn't he care about my unrelenting, irreversible, mental decline? How insensitive of him!
I started getting up earlier so I could get to the newspaper first. Well, I tried to, anyway. Actually, I only thought about trying to. But my husband gets up at 5 am, for goodness sake, and I really like sleeping in, so you can imagine how well that worked. Fortunately, on most days, he didn't have time to get to the paper before work, so I could still snatch it and fill in the puzzle before he got home.
This didn't solve the problem of Sundays, however. We were both home, and we both wanted that Sunday crossword, like a honeymooner wants a "do not disturb" sign. After a few heated exchanges, we came to an agreement, as would any rational adult whose kids happen to be watching. We began taking turns. This was difficult, but manageable. That is, until the time one of us (my husband) got stuck, and had to ask the other (me) for help. After that, whoever was not doing the puzzle that week would hover over the lucky person's shoulder, offering helpful suggestions like, "Are you sure you can get that? Because it looks pretty hard this week. I'd be happy to help you if you get stuck. No? Maybe in a minute then. How about now?" Finally we took to locking ourselves in the bathroom to get away from each other while working the puzzle.
I know this sounds shocking, but it gets worse. It seems that once that my help has been flagrantly and rudely rejected, it is natural to turn to thoughts of sabotage. As soon as my hapless spouse puts down the puzzle, I snatch it and finish as much as I can, saying afterward, "I thought you gave up!" When it turns out that he actually still had it in his hand, and he was putting it "down" on a hard surface so he could write in the answers, I have to admit I may have been a bit hasty. Later, I look over his shoulder and shout out answers that may, or may not, actually belong to that particular puzzle. I've found it's best to choose answers that fit with the puzzle's theme, but don't actually belong there. This really keeps him guessing. And after all, I'm doing him a favor, right? After all, his brain needs exercise, too. That man spent 10 minutes looking for his cell phone, but it was in his pocket!
