The Madcap Mishaps of Mr. W

Last week, Mr. Wonderful and I were sitting on the couch discussing the many spiders in the house when he said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but about a month ago I had a spider in my pants.”

I gasped.

“I just sat down to eat breakfast and I felt something tickle my ankle. Well, I looked down and there was a spider crawling out the bottom of my pantleg.”

“Did you scream like a girl?”

“No, but I threw my cereal up in the air and it went everywhere.”

This was the first in the serial cereal incidents.

The second occurred Friday before I was awake. Apparently, Mr. W set up the ironing board to press his linen shirt, and when he set his bowl of cereal on it, it collapsed, sending milk and wheat chex all over him and the guest bedroom floor.


The poor dear followed up that sad morning with another the next day when, upon arriving to Dublin, he proceeded to come down with a 24-hour stomach bug.

He was such a trooper—he stood in line and walked through the Trinity College Library to see The Book of Kells thinking he might pass out or toss his cookies the whole time. After composing himself with a little nap on a park bench, he made it safely back to our hotel where he immediately collapsed into bed and didn’t get up until the next morning.



This made for an interesting day for me.

You see, Ireland is a little like Shangri-La to me. I visited the southern part of the country 7 years ago and just fell in love with the people—the way they sing and act like your best friend even if you’re a stranger. I could listen to Irish accents all day long. There’s a melody to them. And the Guinness. Oh the Guinness. And the seeming presence of U2 everywhere—namely in Dublin…I just love it all.


So as much as I wanted to sit vigil by my sick boy’s side, I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t get out for at least a little while. I promised to bring him Gatorade and a light snack, and I headed out to wander the streets of Temple Bar. I shopped and admired the River Liffey and the impressive spire on O’Connell Street, which didn’t exist last time I was there. I enjoyed the street musicians and the crowds of tourists. And then I made my way back to my favorite invalid and ordered an Irish beef burger via room service.



Thankfully, Mr. W was feeling better in the morning, so we were able to get out to the Guinness Storehouse, where we learned that the drink is a good follow-up to influenza.



And we found time to see St. Patrick’s Cathedral and some great artwork at the National Gallery.



Despite the slight drawbacks of the trip, it was still a lovely one. And Mr. W made it through without spilling—or barfing up—any cereal.