Culture No. 6

I have a confession to make.

…

Sometimes I am a bad trophy wife.

Not a terrible trophy wife, mind you. After all, we’ve only been married three months and I’ve yet to do something like drain the bank account or – knock-on-wood – crash the Mazda. But sometimes (aka this past weekend) I do play “Read My Mind Or Die” or some equally rigged, hormone-fueled mind game and am eventually forced to own up to the fact that sometimes I’m not very nice.

Thankfully, Bert is patient and loving and forgives me, but I’ve learned that sometimes it helps to have something to sweeten the deal/earn future “Bad Mood Indulgences.” Take, for example, our conversation from this past weekend:

Me: I’m sorry I was mean and refused to give you directions home from the gas station. [Long story. Don’t ask.] Will you forgive me?

Bert: Yes, I love you. I forgive you.

Me: Did I mention there’s a B-29 Superfortress practically in my parent’s backyard? Let’s go spend the afternoon looking at it and three other hangers full of planes and jeeps.

Bert: For real? You are the best wife ever! Were we fighting? I don’t even remember. Wow, you’re swell. And beautiful. I am the luckiest man alive.

Okay, so maybe I have never heard Bert say swell, but that was the essence of our conversation. And yes, I shamelessly distracted my husband away from my own shortcomings by bringing him to the New England Air Museum while we were in Connecticut this past weekend. And it worked like a charm. (He distracted me from his own shortcomings by buying me a box of Munson's truffles. It also worked like a charm. One that is currently almost gone.)

It's all about the shiny distractions, ladies. Case in point: my own, personal, butt-saving B-29. Look at how rapt he is. Is he thinking bad thoughts about his cranky wife? Not on your life!

The museum is pinched between Bradley Airport and the CT Air National Guard Base on a back road that looks like the TSA will arrest you just for looking at it. I’d been there once before, but it’s been awhile. (Not that it makes a difference. I am unable to ID anything less ugly than a Warthog.) This was Bert's first trip - am I a bad trophy wife for not bringing him sooner? - and he really enjoyed it, even with two-birthday-parties worth of children hogging all the open cockpits and flight simulators.

Bert and the 2.75 rocket his grandfather helped design. Apparently, the manual for this piece of weaponry resides somewhere in our apartment. You learn something new every day!

I always find it much more enjoyable to go to these kinds of places with people who know what they're talking about. (I feel the same way when I'm watching football. I know, I know. I am a terribly uninformed Hokie.) Bert and I had many riveting discussions about the purpose of "general purpose" bombs, what kind of seaplane was used in TailSpin, and how George Lucas' Naboo fighters were definitely not an original concept. (My level of discourse on aircraft only goes so high.) They also had an interesting exhibit on dirigibles, which included a photo of the swastika-bearing Hindenburg hovering over the Traveler's Building in Hartford. Kind of eerie!

Jeeper's grandfather. Still dripping oil into a pan of kitty litter on the floor. Guess it runs in the family. ;)

All up, it was a fun way spend a rainy afternoon burying the hatchet. I got mad Wife Points and Bert got enough antique engines to last him at least a good three months. (Anyone up for a car show in Carlisle after that?) I am a lucky gal. Cute and forgiving. What a combo.