Oh, that beautiful Papaya Pill.

A few weeks ago, I decided to purchase papaya tablets for my angora bunnies. Since there isn’t a health food store around here, I went on-line to a discount vitamin company to place an order. I found what I was looking for at a great price, though shipping more or less ate away the savings. As long as I was paying postage, I decided to browse a bit to see if there was anything else I might want to include in the package. I ended up buying a bottle of joint supplement for my husband because he is constantly battling arthritis in his hips and knees.

When I got home from Boston, Mark mentioned that my package had come. He said, “I see you bought me some pills. Thanks.”

I said, “I thought they might help. Where are my rabbit vitamins, by the way?”

He hesitated a moment, then said, “What rabbit vitamins?”

“The papaya enzymes. You know, the ones I went on-line to get for my angoras. I told you about that. They help the rabbits pass the hair they digest.”  

“You told me that? I don’t remember. Well, now that you say it, maybe I do. I did wonder why you bought so much of the stuff.”

“Well, where’d ya put them?”

Mark shrugged guiltily. “I’ve been taking them. I thought they were for me. I saw the joint pills so I just assumed whatever else was in the box was something you wanted me to take.”

It turns out, he put the remaining three bottles in my office. A few days later, I noticed Mark taking his vitamins, and he was still popping papaya enzymes. This amused me.

“So, how’s the papaya working out for you, dear?”

He cast me a sideways glance. “Really good. I haven’t coughed up a hairball once since I began taking them.”

Made me grin, but what the heck. They can’t hurt him.

Later that day, we were eating lunch, and Mark looks at me thoughtfully and says, “You look amazing. Really gorgeous. You are going through a fantastic phase.” He has been saying this a lot lately. I’ll be knee deep in horseshit and he will pause and tell me I look fantastic. Always cracks me up.

“Thank you dear.”

“No really. Every since we sold FLEX you’ve looked ten times better than you use to look. Maybe it is your going to school too. You look different. As if you are at peace or something. I think it’s contentment. That can change your entire look, you know.”

“Could be. I certainly scowl less now that I am arguing with chickens rather than dance parents.”

He now starts waving his spoon at me, as if he is analyzing my face, pointing to all the parts that make the whole. “Your hair is glamorous. You look like someone going into a beauty contest, not like someone getting ready to go hike in the woods.”

“Thank you dear.” (I’m now thinking it is time for him to stop, and I was right, because the next thing he said was..)

“You’ve somehow even grown into your nose over the years. Your face is perfectly proportioned now. Amazing.”    

Well, for thirty seconds he was almost romantic.

It occurs to me that if I am just in a “good phase”, it implies I will move through the phase and come out at the other end as homely as I might have been before. And I don’t have the heart to tell him that my great hair is really just a result of the Georgia water and the lack of Florida humidity. Every day is a great hair day for me since we moved here. I’ve been extremely lucky in that way.

 I shrug and say, “I think it’s just that you love me, so I look pretty to you.”

“Oh, I’m sure that isn’t the case,” he says. (Now I’m thinking, “Are you a total fool? Do you realize that was your opportunity to gain major brownie points, and you blew it. You better shut up before you dig a hole so deep you wont be able to climb out, buddy.)

I point out that I am one of those women who tend to get better with age and he’d be wise to keep taking his vitamins, because by the time I’m eighty, he’s gonna have a wife that’s a knock out and I’d hate for him to miss it.

He spends a few more minutes talking about my face and body like I am a car and he is kicking the tires.

I occurs to me that he’s been pointing out how pretty he thinks I am a lot lately, at the oddest moments. Like when I am vacuuming the car, or scrubbing a toilet or stepping out of the shower all wet and cross-eyed because I’m so tired. I usually pat him on the head and say thanks, or I just ignore him. He has to think I’m pretty. It’s a husband’s job.

Then, yesterday, he starts complimenting me again as we were headed out for our daily walk in the woods. I put my hands on my hips and said, “Honey, I hate to tell you, but it isn’t me. I’m the same as I always have been. Perhaps, now that we don’t own FLEX you’ve gotten around to  noticing me for the first time. The truth is, I think it’s you. You are the one who has changed somehow, and this changes your perceptions. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. But it isn’t me. It’s you.”

For a few minutes he contemplates this. “Maybe you’re right. It is me.” Then, he grins and adds, “I am, after all, taking rabbit vitamins.”     

Ha. Well, there you have it, Girls. Run out and purchase some papaya enzymes and you can be pretty 24-7 too.

So today, I started taking a few papaya enzymes with my vitamins as well. I figure, what the heck. Can’t hurt me. I won’t have to worry about hairballs . . .  and it just might help my husband grow into his big ole ears (which look a bit bigger since he began taking the rabbit pills.  Hummm…)

Whatever works, I always say.