The Brains of the Family

Without dispute, Handsome Hubby is the brains of the family. Now, he wants to be the brains OUT of the family too!

Just yesterday HH walked into the room and casually announced “I want to donate my brain.” And then, without explanation, walked out.

“Huh?”

Donate His Brains

I didn’t know if he meant immediately. I didn’t know to whom he wanted to donate his brain. And I didn’t know what the heck prompted this out-of-the-blue declaration.

I mean I had just gathered up a pile of clothes and household goods to donate to the local refugee resettlement program, but I hadn’t realized “brains” were on the list of welcome items needed to help families settle into their new homes in America. Surely, HH wasn’t intending to contribute his cranium there?

I needed answers ASAP. So, I jumped up and dashed into HH’s office. Too late. He was already on a Zoom call. He waved me off.

Thirty minutes passed. Then, one hour.

Frustrated, annoyed, and agitated, I started making dinner. I hadn’t planned on making anything fancy but wondered if this was a last-supper scenario. Did I need to up my dinner prep game? Give HH a proper last night on Earth send-off? I decided against it. After all, I really had not been given ample Doomsday notice. I mean really! So, beans and franks it was going to be, plain and simple.

HH finally finished Zoom-ing. I demanded answers. To whom was he “donating” his brain? Why? And most importantly, when?

A No-Brainer

Over dinner, my brainiac man told me about the latest newsletter from the Restless Leg Syndrome Foundation.  The newsletter detailed the latest on the search for answers to the maddening malady which causes sufferers like HH to have an irresistible, uncomfortable urge to move their limbs, especially at night disrupting sleep. As part of that research, scientists have issued a call for individuals with RLS to donate their brains for study. Hence, HH’s decision.

OK. I get it. Still, when a guy makes a major post-mortem plan, you think he’d hit the pause button, take his wife by the hand, sit her down, and break the head-chopping news gently. To me, this is a no-brainer.

Oh, well. Welcome to life and I guess, death with HH. May the latter not occur for many, many decades!