Blessed be technology and cyborgs…
I have a new husband. He’s not exactly new, but more of an upgraded version in the vein of Steve Austin of the Six Million Dollar Man 1974 TV series. If you’re not familiar with the series, the premise was that Steve was an astronaut who flew an experimental aircraft that crashed. Steve didn’t die. Someone with six million dollars to blow said, “Let’s rebuild Steve; we have the technology. He’ll be better, faster, and stronger.”
Steve ended up with a new arm, legs, and an eye. His body parts had super human power. The show had cool sound effects and slow motion sequences during bionic action. Steve was then employed by the OSO, Office of Special Operations, a secret government agency.
The hubby’s story was similar to Steve’s that a job contributed to his need for new body parts. Years working a construction job was like living through a smaller aircraft crash every day. The hubby also belonged to OSO except in his case operations stood for operations of the surgical kind.
Surgery was performed on hubby’s knee to remove icky stuff like chunks of bone, twice. Then he had a wrist surgery. During a shoulder surgery, a doctor finally made the hubby a true cyborg with additions of metal anchors to reattach vital muscle parts and bone. When the plan to bind up the shoddy body parts with duct tape to keep him in the job market until retirement failed (too much duct tape), the hubby received a brand new knee.
Doctors rebuilt the hubby. They had the technology, but as for better, faster, stronger, not so much. Regular broken down human beings employed in the private sector weren’t allotted six million dollars. We had to settle for lower expectations or even reverse effects.
The hubby’s throwing arm now had about the same oomph as mine and not the strength of a bulldozer like government employed Steve’s arm. The dit, dit, dit, sound effects ran through my head when the hubby attempted to hurry. The slow motion sequences found in the TV show were actually as fast as the hubby now moved. The hubby’s running days were over not that he ran much before his surgery. There would definitely be no leaping. Where Steve had a bionic eye, the hubby had eye glasses and reading glasses. The hubby had no special night vision function either as we don’t have vision insurance.
Since the hubby wasn’t employed by the government, his now less than human capabilities also came with hellish deductibles for the procedures. I had doubts about a secret government agency ever seeking the service of a worn out carpenter. Even with all the upgrades or downgrades depending on your view, the hubby was consigned to the scrap heap.
A Six Million Dollar Man in middle class basically meant that if we ever had the opportunity to travel, the hubby would set off alarms that a strip search wouldn’t solve. We had to pay for health insurance on an ORF’s (Old Retired Fart’s) salary. The persons who thought retirement would be like running naked through a field of tulips together were bashed awake from their fantasy. One of us couldn’t run and the other must continue to work.
I was sorely disappointed with reality. The reality that worried me more than the possibility of needing a third job was the ORF would be left unsupervised with margarita ingredients. If the hubby doesn’t wait to celebrate happy hour with me, I could threaten to punch him in the shoulder or kick him in the knee. Nah, I don’t have 34 million dollars to rebuild him. Inflation is a bitch.
Published in Funny Times-June 2019