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The Weaving of Love and Loss

Yes, George Clooney, Maybe, But Don’t Call Me Walter

by Mary Jane Hurley Brant

My husband thinks he looks like a movie star.  Recently, he and I needed a few things so we headed over to a local department store. With pandemic masks starting to come off, I am reminded of the following story.

Walking through the makeup section my spouse glanced over to the perfume counter. “Hi” waved a curvaceous young saleswoman, wearing “Pirate Red Lipstick” behind the Chanel counter, “Can I help you?”  He looked around to see who she was talking to.  Realizing this attractive woman was addressing him, he sauntered over, cowboy style.  (We had just seen the movie Once Upon a Time in Hollywood so I suppose there was a strong identification there.)

“OMG, she says, “you look exactly like that movie star, um, what was his name?” 

“Brad Pitt? Matthew McConaughey? Probably George Clooney.” 

(His quick wit made the woman giggle so loud I turned around to see what the heck was going on.)  “Well, maybe I do see a slight resemblance to George Clooney. But please, help me remember. I’m thinking he was one of those grouchy guys in, you know, some popular old movie.”  Now I’m standing there.

“Ah,” I intruded into the conversation, “you must mean Walter Matthau.”

“Yes, that’s him, Walter Matthau!”

“Do.  Not.  Call.  Me.  Walter!” boomed a loud voice out of my husband’s throat.  That’s when I put my head down and pretended to check out all the pretty Chanel fragrance bottles.  But my poor ambushed husband?  Shell-shocked.  He had heard this reference to Walter too many times before.  I watched his broad shoulders droop.  His handsome face fell like Isaac Newton’s famed apple. 

Every guy can identify, right?  Because, just think: for a moment, here was this cute twenty-something woman giving him what he thought was a flattering compliment.  Now, I’m not saying men get caught up in that sort of thing, like they enjoy flirting or whatever, but honestly, when we get to ‘a certain age’ our ego can be easily seduced by admiration and, likewise, crushed.  I also didn’t mean to be part of the wrecking crew.

The hubster sulked all the way to the car.  And, because I wanted to make amends and cheer him up, I playfully nudged him, “Hey, Walter, want to talk about it? Oh, sorry, I mean, ‘Hey, Georgie, do you want to talk about it?

“Not funny, Mary Jane, besides (audible sigh from spouse) I thought Walter was a pretty funny guy in a sort of irascible way.” 

Immediate jolts of empathy went zinging through my synaptic pathways. “Oh, really, Sweetie?” 

“Yea, really.”

 “Personally, I think you look way more like Patrick Dempsey, you know, that smoking-hot surgeon from Grey’s Anatomy?  Here, look.” That was the moment I whipped out my smartphone and showed my movie star spouse an internet shot of this popular ladies’ man.  And, just so my teeth didn’t illuminate like Lewis-Carroll’s Cheshire cat while looking at some guy every woman I know from here to Kalamazoo calls “Dr. McDreamy,” I just held my chin up and managed my own cute version of flirting.

“Well, he is kind of nice looking,” my husband nodded affirmatively but now I noticed he’s staring more intensely than I thought necessary at my slowly curling lips.

“Um, like yea - I mumbled through my teeth - he’s a little more than just nice looking,” as I clenched my jaws tight concealing my savory-shrewd-secret-smiling-self.

“I mean,” my husband says, “you know, nice looking for a guy.”

“Yes, of course, for a guy.”

Twenty-minutes later we pulled into our driveway.  I seized my husband’s hand and offered him one of my great ‘helpful wife lessons.’  “I hope you learned something today about the importance of a smile.  I mean, you don’t want people comparing you again to that old curmudgeon, Walter-the-movie star-Matthau, do you?”

That’s when my husband’s regular smile morphed into a George Clooney grin. So, I returned his smile with a mischievous twinkle in my own beguiling, laughing, charming, Irish-smiling eyes, and slowly broke into my Mona Lisa grin imitation.  That’s also when I bolted into the house laughing and shouting, “Dinner’s at 6:00, George.  Now, don’t forget to wear that sexy smile or I’ll send you over to eat at Walter’s house.  I heard that crow and humble pie was on the menu today!”

                                          Publication May 19, 2021 in The Sandpaper