Excerpt for You're A Sweet Little Headache! by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

You're A Sweet

Little Headache!

Copyright 2018 Mario V. Farina

Smashwords Edition

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Mario V. Farina


I first met Virginia (Ginny) Wilcox at Progressive Products' employee clinic. I had just been employed by the company and needed to have my health checked out at the clinic. Ginny was a very attractive nurse with long black hair. I was immediately captivated by her beauty and personality. I tried not to let on. She was getting me ready to meet with a doctor. One of my responsibilities was to attend to a large, glass test tube that she had handed me. Staring at the item, I saw there was a small cardboard tag, my name on it, attached with a rubber band to the glass. She said not a word, but simply pointed to a door that read, "Men". In defense of my naïveté, I hasten to state that I had never gone through a procedure like this. I was twenty-two and had never needed to take an exam in connection with any of the minor jobs I had had up to that time.

"What is this for?" I asked timidly.

"You don't know?" she responded.

There was a look on her face I had never seen before on any woman, sort of sly, whimsical, naughty, fun-loving. I was fated to see that look many more times during the next several months. Actually, it was so many times, that it caused a serious breach in our relationship.

I responded, no, to her question.

"It's an IQ test," she said. "Go in. You'll see!" She pointed to the door again.

Mystified, I entered the room and looked around. The lettering on the door had led me to believe this would be a men's rest room, and indeed, that's what it was!

IQ? What could that mean? I saw a sink, toilet, paper towel dispenser, the usual things. Near the sink, on a small table, there was a wooden rack holding test tubes similar to the one that Ginny had given me. Each had a label attached with a rubber band. I could also see they contained people's names; men's names. Inside the tubes were amber-colored liquids of various colors, some light, some darker. Could this be a clue?

On the sink, itself, there was a small glass jar containing liquid soap. The color of the soap was a sort of combination between gold and orange. Was I supposed to do something with this besides wash my hands?

Suddenly it occurred to me! Yes, it was an IQ test! I was supposed to solve a problem without even knowing what the nature of the problem was. I needed to put an amount of that soap into the tube and add some water. The color I chose to make the solution was supposed to be the one that represented me best! The test had been designed to ascertain how well I could solve problems. The color I settled on was to be a reflection of my personality. Boy, did I feel good about my cleverness!

Accordingly, I poured a little of the soap into the tube, then added water until the color I finally settled on was one I liked. It did not exactly match any of the colors that I saw on the rack, but felt that it would accurately represent my personality. I placed the tube in one of the holes on the rack, and left the room. I had been gone perhaps 10 minutes.

"How did it go?" Ginny asked smiling.

"Super!" I replied. "Thank you for the heads up on the IQ test! I think I passed!"

Ginny wanted to know what I had done and I told her. She began to laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" I asked.

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" she said. Though I pressed my question, she gave no further information. I left and went back to my work station in another building.

When I arrived, my supervisor told me she had received a call from the clinic telling her I had done something wrong and needed to go back. I was puzzled, since I felt confident about the IQ test. I requested she give me the reason as to why. She smiled as we discussed this. I think she understood when I confessed to my infantile gullibility.

At the clinic, I confronted Ginny angrily, and told her how I had been immeasurably embarrassed. Instead of apologizing, as I expected, she simply giggled, and said, "I was only having a little fun!"

As I ruminated upon the events of the day that evening in my apartment, I realized that there was something in Ginny's demeanor that had appealed to me. I couldn't get her out of my mind. I loved the way she smiled as she had teased me. I called the clinic the following morning and asked for her. I suggested she accompany me for lunch at the company cafeteria that noontime. She agreed!

That date led to many more. We became engaged, and, a month later, were married.

That's when I truly found out how much Ginny loved having fun. She was an inveterate prankster. When I least expected, I would find salt in the sugar bowl, socks tied in strong knots, underwear missing, glued toilet paper, and many other bizarre occurrences. When I complained, she would laugh, and tell me that this was a compulsion with her. She did not mean to be annoying me, I discovered. It was something in her nature simply to do. "You're a sweet little headache," I told her one day, "but you need to stop those pranks, otherwise, it may have an unfortunate effect on our marriage."

"How so?" she asked.

"I may just decide to leave you when you least expect it."

"I wish you would," she replied surprisingly. "It might do some good!"

Her remark startled me. In the past, I had been accused by some for being a fault-finder, of being some sort of an unforgiving perfectionist. I had not minded being labeled as having these traits. I thought they might actually be compliments. Had I been wrong all along? Was I being unfair to Ginny? It finally came to me by osmosis that maybe I was! I needed to discuss this with her.

Soon afterward, we conversed seriously for about an hour. At the end, Ginny stated she would try to do better and I promised to be more accepting. Unfortunately, it didn't happen. Finally, after she and I had had several more severe tiffs, we agreed see a marriage counselor. We made an appointment with a consultant recommended to Ginny by a girlfriend.

The professional's name was Adelaide Robinson. Ms. Robinson put us at ease and immediately began asking penetrating questions.

She sat behind a simple oaken desk. There was a small couch in front that would accommodate two. Ginny and I were seated there. "Robert, what's this I hear about you not being a fan of having fun?" Ms. Robinson asked smiling graciously.

"Addie," I said, (Ms. Robinson had asked that we address each other with nicknames) "I do enjoy having fun. My dear wife, Ginny, is a sweet little headache! She's has fun every minute of the day. I guess this might be a case of her fun being too much of a good thing."

Ms. Robinson nodded her understanding, then turned to face Ginny. "I'm sure Bob loves you very much, Ginny," she began, "About you having fun, is he exaggerating?"

"I don't know, Addie," she responded. "Maybe it's too much. I have tried to tone it down, but somehow, I can't! It's some sort or compulsion with me. I don't understand it. I don't blame Bob for being annoyed. I think I would be too under the same circumstances."

"It's possible you're right, Ginny," Ms Robinson said. "There is a medical condition that I have never seen before in anyone. It's called Scurramania. Don't let the mania part of the name scare you. There's nothing wrong with your mind. This malady is very rare. There are some people that just can't resist finding humor in everything, even at the most unexpected moments. They even do irresponsible little things simply to irk others. It's possibly like what Bob said, you're a sweet little headache, but we may be dealing with a case where lots of fun is simply too much fun."

Ginny blurted, "that word scurra scares me. Does it mean that what I've been doing was scurrilous?"

"No, no, no," exclaimed Ms. Robinson. "It's nothing like that! The word, Scurra, is a Latin word meaning joke or prank. You're not behaving badly, you might simply be the victim of a medical condition. There is no known cure for it, but it can be controlled. Often, it just goes away with time!"

She turned to me, and asked, "Do you love Ginny?"

"You know I do, Addie! You said that yourself. I do love her very much."

"I know this is a problem for you, Bob. How much do you truly love Ginny? Put it into words for me and Ginny to hear and understand."

"I love her with my whole heart and soul, Addie," I said. "She's my sun, my moon, my entire universe. During the day, whenever she comes in view, my heart sings! She is a woman of quality. She's kind, loving, loyal, thoroughly devoted to me! I would be more than lost without her in my life; I couldn't live without her!"

"How would you feel if she were not in your life, Bob?"

I shuddered. I had not thought that our relationship could get this bad. "If Ginny were not in my life, I couldn't continue living and I wouldn't want to continue! " I said.

"Then why are we here?" Ms. Robinson asked softly. "Aren't you endangering having her in your life?"

"I've been very stupid, Addie! I wasn't looking ahead. I thought she'd quit annoying me simply because I demanded it. Though I threatened to leave, I didn't mean it."

"I felt you would say that," Ms. Robinson said. "How this entire problem turns out, depends upon how you deal with it. Is it possible, do you think, for you to live with pranks, jokes, silly schemes, nonsense talk, knowing, that if you can't, you will lose her?"

"Yes, Addie, oh, yes, yes, yes!" I responded. "Life without Ginny is unthinkable! I don't know what I was thinking. You've have me understand what I should have realized myself."

"Bob, tell Ginny what you have just told me."

I turned to face my dear wife. She was looking at me with tears flowing from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. "Ginny," I said quietly, "I love you with a love that Shakespeare, with all his skill with words, could not have conceived, a love that has been engraved on my heart as if I had been born with it, a love that could not be shaken any more than a mountain can be moved a distance the tiniest of iotas! I'm sorry I put you to this discomfort. I'm sorry I suggested I might leave you. That was a fool speaking. I was blind to reality. I know now that I could not have taken an action like this any more than I could jump into the air and fly! Let's go home so that I can start proving how much I mean all of this!"

"I need a hug," Ginny managed to utter through her tears. I turned to her and held her in my arms. Time dissolved like a cube of ice thrown into a pot of boiling water. I don't know how long I held her. It did not matter. I knew that no matter what happened, we would be together for the rest of our lives.

Finally, we bid Ms. Robinson a fond farewell and thanked her for what she had done.

At home, I sank into the huge divan in the living room while Ginny disappeared into the kitchen. I had meant every word I had said to Ms. Robinson. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever shake my love for the dearest person in my life ever again.

Just then Ginny entered the room. There was an opened pink umbrella decorated with huge, round red polka dots over her head. "What a terrible rainstorm were having!" she announced with a grin. Astonished, I was about to make an exclamation of some kind, but caught myself just in time.

I cried out delightedly, "Yes, Ginny, a rainstorm! A huge deluge! But, into each life some rain must fall! It will end soon and the sun will come out." We both burst out laughing. Then, I added . . .

"Ginny, you're a sweet little headache, but you are lots of fun! I will never want it any other way!"

Note by Author: This story was inspired by the song, "You're a Sweet Little Headache, But You Are Lots of Fun" by Leo Robin and Ralph Ranger published in 1938. There is a rendition, I think you'll like in Youtube by Bing Crosby.

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