Mukilteo Musings

Living With A Toxicologist: Part 3

The following are examples just from the last week---my whole marriage has been like this. My husband has a very dry sense of humor so you cannot always tell if he is joking. My children have grown up believing unbelievable stories because they believed their father.

For example, our beloved local seafood chain, Ivar's, used to advertise with dancing clams on TV. (Actually, they were people with upper bodies like clams and black tights.) My husband told my daughter when she was little that they were real. Technically, this is not a falsehood because they were real people but she became afraid to go to the beach for fear of running into one of these dancing clams. Recently, while watching a local parade, along came the dancing clams in the flesh. Even as a teen ager, her face turned white at the sight.

Back to my examples:

1. I had to have a couple of old fillings replaced yesterday. The side of my face and my tongue were, of course, dead. I asked the dental assistant how long it would take to go away and she said a couple of hours depending "on your metabolism". My logical brain told me that if I exercised after my appointment, thereby increasing my metabolism, my face would come back to life sooner. So, I took my Apolo on a long vigorous walk including a steep hill. When I met my husband for dinner, I proudly told him how I had hastened my recovery. He immediately replied, "Great, but you actually delayed your recovery."

"What? Are you kidding?"

"No, I'm serious. Vigorous exercise would increase your circulation to your muscles. Metabolism of the anesthetic occurs in the liver--so you took the circulation away from your liver and directed it to your muscles. So you slowed your body's ability to rid itself of the drug. But, it probably didn't make a whole lot of difference one way or the other," he smiles.

"Oh, geez, shut up!"

2. We decided to try a new salmon recipe for Copper River salmon the other night. It had a rhubarb sauce with carmelized onions served over fava beans. We needed "fava beans". On the way to the store, I asked my husband what fava beans looked like. He responded, "I don't know what fava beans look like but if you have this certain 'blah, blah, blah' Mediterranean gene, if you eat them, your red blood cells basically explode and you die from internal bleeding. Blood comes out everywhere. Quinine can do this, too."

"Are you joking? How do you know you don't have the gene? I know I couldn't because I am all British Isle blood!! But we don't know where your sister's black hair and dark skin and Kaley's nose originated. Are you kidding?"

"No, it's true."

"I don't think I want fava beans anymore. Your genetic make up is a family mystery! I've lost my appetite. Come on, are you serious?"

"I am serious, but I have no idea what fava beans look like."

Well, we couldn't find fava beans so we substituted and by the way--don't try the rhubarb sauce with carmelized onions on salmon recipe. Not good!

3. At the 5th Ave. Theater just last night (Kamiak won Best Musical Direction but lost out on Best Musical--more on this later), we were seated in the balcony and we could see the spotlight beam. The beam completely highlighted all of the dust in the air. My husband looks up and nudges me, "Look, you want to see what you are breathing?"

"NO, No, no, are you kidding? Geez, be quiet!!!"