MARITAL ARTS

Exiting the Y after a swim recently, my eye scanned a rack of brochures describing YMCA classes: Pilates, Kick Boxing, Senior Fitness, Dance Aerobics, etc. The last was a yellow pamphlet headed FULL CIRCLE MARTIAL ARTS. At my age I have zero interest in martial arts, but my chlorine-blurred eyes transposed two letters, and I read instead FULL CIRCLE MARITAL ARTS. I shoved one in my pocket. MARITAL ARTS. Instruction beyond the physical. Help for couples in body, mind, and spirit. Something Wifey and I could do together, perhaps. Worth a look.

When I got to my comfy chair at home, I opened the yellow folder and read with interest, “MARITAL ARTS,” (once you’ve misread a thing, it’s imprinted). “The time to consider your options in self-defense is long before you face life-threatening decisions under stress. We offer protective strategies that equip you for emergency situations of all kinds.”

Strong stuff, but on target. Wifey might well improve with some stress-tactics adjustment. It couldn’t hurt. She was on her way home from work as I read on.

“Improve your quality of life starting today. No special equipment needed. Easy movements anyone can do for anxiety reduction, sleep improvement, and anger management. We emphasize humane techniques and cover situations from nuisance level to life-threatening, concepts to keep you safe.”

A bit advanced for Wifey and me, maybe. Our situations are nuisance level mostly. But be prepared, I say.

“Learn punching, kicking, grappling, throws, take-downs, pressure points, and marital arts philosophy,” I read as Wifey pulled into the garage.

“Now what?” she says coming through the kitchen.

“Look, Sweetie,” says I, holding up the page. “A new class we can take at the Y. Marital Arts. Put-downs and stuff. You’re good at that.” She snatched it, read the title, and dropped it on the table.

“You ARE an idiot,” she said and left the room.

“No call for that,” I thought. “That’s nuisance level at least.