Duty. If you fall into the frigid waters of marital discord, I can help you climb out before you freeze to death.”
Coffen’s internal clash to participate in this show hits a pothole as soon as the magician says “Lifeguard of Love.” Bob almost laughs—it sounds too much like a porn: Excuse me, scantily clad coed on the beach. Do you need CPR? My penis is really great at administering it.
He stares at Jane, who still looks to be taking this all very seriously.
“Speaking of freezing to death,” Sputtering Husband says through chattering teeth.
“In a minute,” says Björn.
“My feet are numb,” Zombie Wife says.
“Divas,” Björn mutters, then helps both of them get out of the water. They stand onstage shivering and everyone gives a walloping round of applause before the two walk off and huddle in the corner in blankets.
“Do you know why they call me Björn the Bereft?” the magician asks. “Because of these.” He points at his cheeks, which are slick with tears. “I’ve been crying nonstop for nine years. Nine! Ever since my own marriage failed. My wife and I weren’t clearly reading each other’s signs. Even if we don’t wear real signs around our real necks in everyday life, they are invisibly dangling there. For instance, did I know that Vivian’s invisible dangling sign said B ORED IN THE B EDROOM ? I had no idea of her boredom in the bedroom. How is anyone supposed to fix something if they aren’t given ample opportunity to make adjustments? It’s common sense, right? So tonight, you are going to articulate what your sign says to your spouse. Hopefully, this exercise can close some of the distance that exists between you. Will everyone please look under their placemats? What’s there? Is there a blank dental bib that you can write on and then fasten around your neck? There sure is. And before you go giving me too much credit, no, that wasn’t a magic trick. I had my interns stash those there before the show. I’m a magician of principles and won’t take credit for feats I myself did not mastermind. You’ll also notice a Sharpie next to your bread plate. Please take a couple minutes and collect your thoughts regarding what should be written on your dental bib. Remember: The sign is already invisibly danglingfrom your neck. Now, it’s time to be honest with yourself, your partner, and do your best to make the marriage work. Trust me: You don’t want to end up like me, crying for nine years. Could I have stopped crying by now? Yes and no. But I cast a spell on myself to cry every day for the rest of my life so I could help other people avoid the vipers’ nest my wife and I stumbled into. Does that make me a martyr? Am I some kind of emotional hero? We’ll see how history remembers my contribution to the dark arts. I can only hope to be immortalized in the pantheon of legendary illusionists.”
Björn pauses, twirls the ends of his moustache. He’s pacing back and forth in exaggerated, labored strides and making eye contact with all the people near the front, flashing them smiles. Probably the magician thinks he’s being friendly, but all Bob sees is a snake oil salesman trying to dupe people into buying his miracle tonic.
Björn says, “Don’t show your sign to your partner until I tell you to. For now, only worry about writing on it, then stand up next to your chair. Once everyone is standing, I’ll know we’re ready for the next phase. Good luck.” He wipes more tears from his face.
Jane looks at Bob, but he can’t read her expression. He wishes his wife were easier to decipher, like Dumper and his slithering tongue. No way to misinterpret that. But how’s Coffen currently supposed to gauge Jane?
He smiles at her.
She immediately looks down at her dental bib.
They both prepare to write. Everyone in the place uses their forearms, hands, even elbows to block anybody from seeing their messages while they write, like kids in school trying to keep their test answers
Coffen’s internal clash to participate in this show hits a pothole as soon as the magician says “Lifeguard of Love.” Bob almost laughs—it sounds too much like a porn: Excuse me, scantily clad coed on the beach. Do you need CPR? My penis is really great at administering it.
He stares at Jane, who still looks to be taking this all very seriously.
“Speaking of freezing to death,” Sputtering Husband says through chattering teeth.
“In a minute,” says Björn.
“My feet are numb,” Zombie Wife says.
“Divas,” Björn mutters, then helps both of them get out of the water. They stand onstage shivering and everyone gives a walloping round of applause before the two walk off and huddle in the corner in blankets.
“Do you know why they call me Björn the Bereft?” the magician asks. “Because of these.” He points at his cheeks, which are slick with tears. “I’ve been crying nonstop for nine years. Nine! Ever since my own marriage failed. My wife and I weren’t clearly reading each other’s signs. Even if we don’t wear real signs around our real necks in everyday life, they are invisibly dangling there. For instance, did I know that Vivian’s invisible dangling sign said B ORED IN THE B EDROOM ? I had no idea of her boredom in the bedroom. How is anyone supposed to fix something if they aren’t given ample opportunity to make adjustments? It’s common sense, right? So tonight, you are going to articulate what your sign says to your spouse. Hopefully, this exercise can close some of the distance that exists between you. Will everyone please look under their placemats? What’s there? Is there a blank dental bib that you can write on and then fasten around your neck? There sure is. And before you go giving me too much credit, no, that wasn’t a magic trick. I had my interns stash those there before the show. I’m a magician of principles and won’t take credit for feats I myself did not mastermind. You’ll also notice a Sharpie next to your bread plate. Please take a couple minutes and collect your thoughts regarding what should be written on your dental bib. Remember: The sign is already invisibly danglingfrom your neck. Now, it’s time to be honest with yourself, your partner, and do your best to make the marriage work. Trust me: You don’t want to end up like me, crying for nine years. Could I have stopped crying by now? Yes and no. But I cast a spell on myself to cry every day for the rest of my life so I could help other people avoid the vipers’ nest my wife and I stumbled into. Does that make me a martyr? Am I some kind of emotional hero? We’ll see how history remembers my contribution to the dark arts. I can only hope to be immortalized in the pantheon of legendary illusionists.”
Björn pauses, twirls the ends of his moustache. He’s pacing back and forth in exaggerated, labored strides and making eye contact with all the people near the front, flashing them smiles. Probably the magician thinks he’s being friendly, but all Bob sees is a snake oil salesman trying to dupe people into buying his miracle tonic.
Björn says, “Don’t show your sign to your partner until I tell you to. For now, only worry about writing on it, then stand up next to your chair. Once everyone is standing, I’ll know we’re ready for the next phase. Good luck.” He wipes more tears from his face.
Jane looks at Bob, but he can’t read her expression. He wishes his wife were easier to decipher, like Dumper and his slithering tongue. No way to misinterpret that. But how’s Coffen currently supposed to gauge Jane?
He smiles at her.
She immediately looks down at her dental bib.
They both prepare to write. Everyone in the place uses their forearms, hands, even elbows to block anybody from seeing their messages while they write, like kids in school trying to keep their test answers
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