Damn You, Eddie Izzard!

It seems that I shall never again receive a back rub from my wife…and it’s all Eddie Izzard’s fault.

You see, we were watching Ocean’s 13, my wife and I, about two or three weeks ago.

“Is that Eddie Izzard?” I asked, having difficulty imagining Mr. Izzard without his typical stage getup. He’s one of my favorite stand-up comics, but I’d probably walk right past him on the street if he weren’t dressed as an “executive transvestite.” I know he’s supposedly in a TV series now sans dress, but I’ve not seen it, so I was left to squint at the gentleman talking to George Clooney and mentally apply make-up.

“I don’t think so,” replied my wife.

We watched for a few minutes more before I once again interrupted the on-screen action. “I’m pretty sure its him.”

“Ok,” she hissed, more interested in the unfolding plot than in the presence or non-presence of Mr. Izzard.

Despite her affirmative response, I could tell she still didn’t agree. “I’ll bet you a back rub that it’s Eddie Izzard,” I smiled. I didn’t even have to look away from the TV to know that she was rolling her eyes.

“I’m not betting.”

My wife is not a gambler. Neither am I really. In the five years we’ve been together, we’ve never stepped foot in the casino a mere mile or so from our house. But, I’m up for throwing the occasional, non-monetary ante into the pot and a backrub seems pretty unthreatening. I mean…I’d be willing to give her one if she asked anyway, so we’re basically just fighting for the bragging rights. Besides, a nice, friendly wager seemed appropriate to the Vegas action we were watching.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not even arguing with you. I’m not betting. And I’m trying to watch the movie”

“Sure you’re arguing, you said you didn’t think it was him. The bet is on.” She ignored me. “And you’re goin’ down.” Her silence continued. “Cuz that’s totally Eddie Izzard right there.”

“Shut up!”

Ninety minutes or so later, as the credits rolled, she rose from the couch and left the living room. She claimed it was out of need of a bathroom trip, but I suggested to her retreating back that she was merely trying to avoid the inevitable confirmation of Eddie Izzard’s presence in the film. My theory was supported when she failed to respond to either my suggestion or my shouts of victory as Mr. Izzard’s name crawled up the screen.

Huzzah!!

Now, a more gracious winner than I would probably have had a much better chance of getting that backrub. My wife, being the fine woman she is, is not a fan of the egotistical strutting I was about to engage in. I knew this. I understood fully that creating a situation whereby the only way I could get a backrub was for Moonshot to admit defeat in a contest to which she had not agreed was a guaranteed way to miss out on my prize. But, I had to weigh this fact against the infinite joy brought on by the absurdity of such apparent pride in recognizing a comic. You can argue that this indicates something warped in my mind, but absurdity wins out in this battle every time for me.

“Mmmm,” I hummed in mock anticipation as we crawled into bed that night. “My back is sooo ready for my reward.” She rolled over and went to sleep without another word.

Every night since then has played out in a similar way, although I have now taken to calling it my “Izzard rub” for the sake of efficiency. “That Izzard rub is just racking up interest, my dear,” I offer.

She shows no sign of cracking and I seem totally unable to stop myself from continually throwing one more log on the fire. I know the answer. I just need to shut up for about a week or so and let her offer me a backrub on her own with no strings attached. Then we’ll be back on track. Even that, however, is risky since we both know how likely I am to bring up Eddie Izzard in the middle of any backrub, even one offered in the spirit of kindness. Luckily, it’s not probable that we’ll even get to such a point any time soon considering that upon completing this post, I’ll probably walk downstairs and remind Moonshot of her continuing debt to my back.

Damn you, Eddie Izzard!