Mr. Wonderful

The award for the ‘Christmas Gift That Keeps On Giving’ goes to my dad, a retired United States Air Force Lt. Colonel and pilot. The biggest laugh of Christmas morning came when my witty and urbane husband Gerard opened a large package containing Mr. Wonderful, a 12” talking doll that spouts off 16 different phrases when you squeeze his palm. He’s every woman’s dream come true, in plastic, anyway. Handsome, sensitive, and a good listener, he says things that women want to hear, but seldom do, like:

You know honey, why don't you just relax and let me make dinner tonight.

The ball game isn't really that important, I'd rather spend time with you.

Why don't we go to the mall? Didn't you want some new shoes?

You know, I think it's really important that we talk about our relationship.

You've been on my mind all day. That's why I bought you these flowers.

You know honey, why don’t you just relax and let me make dinner tonight?

Can’t your mother stay another week?

Hello darling. Have I told you I love you lately?

Did you have a hard day, honey? Why don’t you sit down and let me rub your feet?

Actually, I’m not sure which way to go. I’ll turn in here and ask for directions.

You look so beautiful in the morning.

No, you don’t look at all fat in that dress. How could anything make you look fat?

I think my dad, perhaps unconsciously, had my best interests at heart when he presented his new son-in-law with this hysterical learning toy. The addition of heavy-rimmed black glasses (courtesy of Mr. Potato Head), was an inspired touch, making Mr. Wonderful’s resemblance to Gerard unmistakable.

But not knowing my husband as I do, he doesn’t realize that Gerard is last man in the world in need of platitudes on how to be the ideal mate. He makes dinner, dinners the Fab Five would be proud of. He brings me flowers. He rubs my feet. He tells me how much he loves me on a daily basis. He tells me I look beautiful in the morning. (Yes, after he’s put on his glasses.) And never, never, has he ever made the slightest derogatory comment about my appearance. Except my baggy khaki cargo pants. He hated those, and they mysteriously disappeared when he was doing laundry one day. He doesn’t care a whit about sports. In fact, I heard him ask my brother-in-law Scott at Thanksgiving, “Football, is that when they nudge each other down the field or the one with tall guys bouncing the ball around and throwing it through a hoop?” He volunteers to go shopping with me, and gets as excited as I do when I find an exceptional pair of shoes on sale.

Still, with these simple words of wisdom, Mr. Wonderful did manage to teach my husband one new wife-pleasing trick:

Here, you take the remote. As long as I'm with you, I don't care what we watch.

Apparently there’s a huge desire for Mr. Wonderful. He’s sold out or backordered all over the Internet. Lucky for other more needy women out there, Mr. Wonderful is expected to be back in circulation by March. And he’s available in two sizes, the 12” original and the handy 5” keychain version. Me, I’ll stick with my handsome 6’1” real-life Mr. Wonderful. He’s already everything I need in a mate.

Mr. Wonderful -- Keychain version

Comments

[Diane]

This is cool!

[Dad]

Very nicely done. Never a doubt about the
real Mr. Wonderful!