Hubby

By now, almost everyone knows the story: my husband Stan and I met when cast as a married couple in a highly mediocre new musical called "Democracy". Stan came up to me at the first cast meeting, extended his hand, and said, "Hello. I'm Stan Chandler, and I'm going to be your husband." I love that story... not just because it's as hopelessly romantic as I am, but also because our life together seems a gift bestowed from a fateful place. Something handed to me at a time when I could never have visualized my life being so full, so beautiful, so enriched as it is now. When I look around me and see what bounty we've created since that day, it seems only fitting that he would come up to me and make such a prophetic statement.

Stan is my heaven-sent husband. He's the guy you wish for on a star when you're young and you vow you'll never compromise. Yes, I got THAT lucky. I wonder why sometimes, especially when I take stock of all the mistakes I've made and the years I spent being a complete and utter nincompoop. Maybe the heavens rewarded me for actually realizing, and coming to terms with, my nincompoopeosity. Maybe it's just random, dumb luck. All I know is that whatever it is that brought Stan to me, I thank God for it every day.

Exactly ten years before we met, I was living in New York. I had passed Steve McGraw's a thousand times and had seen the marquee for a show called "Forever Plaid", but couldn't be pursuaded to attend. Stan and I probably passed each other on the street countless times, especially since my favorite restaurant was Peretti's on 72nd and Amsterdam. Thank goodness he didn't meet me then, since I ate way too many breadsticks at Peretti's and at the time was quite... round-y.

In 1991, I was dragged to the show at the Canon Theatre in Los Angeles, by a friend who had heard it was "cute". CUTE?! I was bowled over- by the incredible musicianship, the irresistible harmonies, but mostly by the hilariously subtle humor. I adored all of the Plaids, but I admit it was a guy named Stan Chandler who stole my heart. It was the golden hair, the big sad eyes, the angelic tenor. I remember it so clearly- looking in the program to read his bio, remarking that his name was so old-fashioned for someone so young. After I saw the show, I was the one dragging everybody to see it, and each time before Stan's big solo, "Cry", I'd lean over to my companion and say, "Wait until you hear THIS." He never disappointed, not once.

And so, nearly ten years later when he introduced himself, I knew exactly who he was and blushed as he shook my hand. We all took our seats as our first rehearsal commenced, and when I coughed and said, "God, it's dry," before I had even finished my sentence he handed me a fresh bottle of water. (Talk about a sign of my life to come!) I thanked him and silently wondered if he genuinely cared about the state of my throat, or if maybe- just maybe- he thought I was cute.

But as the rehearsal wore on, something tragic began to unfold. I began to get a whiff of a mighty odor... the unmistakable stench of halitosis. I could only assume it was coming from Mr. Chandler- after all, he was the nearest person to me by far. My heart sank. How could someone so impossibly cute smell so bad? How could someone so impossibly cute not get himself to a dentist and do something about it?! What a waste of impossible cuteness! I wasn't paying attention to the rehearsal anymore. I was too busy lamenting this sad state of affairs. What a shame. We could have had something. We could have been something! But halitosis is a deal-breaker for me. I'm big on smells. I once stopped dating a guy because he smelled weird. Not even bad... just weird. That was it. Full-blown halitosis? Fuggetaboudit.

The stage manager called our first break, and I stood up to stretch and to nonchalantly scoot my chair farther away from him. As I did this, another fellow cast member came up to introduce himself to us. "Hi, I'm Richard* (*some names have been changed to protect the halitosis-ridden)," he exhaled, and as a fresh wave of nausea came over me, the glorious truth came clear. Richard had been sitting ten feet behind me, so I hadn't seen him or realized where the smell was coming from. So persistent was Richard's problem that it had the power to travel ten feet and waft over me from behind without losing an ounce of potency. Hats off to you Richard, wherever you are. I am so glad it was you- and not my future husband- who stank. The irony is that my husband is one of the only people in the world whose breath is always pleasant. He actually wakes up with fresh breath. I've often wondered if it's because he eats a full tin of Altoids and a package of Dentyne Ice a day. But in retrospect, let's just say I should have known it could never have been Stan who turned the rehearsal room green that fateful day.

Since we met in 2000, Stan Chandler has gently placed my dreams in the palm of my hand. He's the kind of guy who holds the door open for you, pulls your chair out, delivers a box of tissue before you have barely finished your third sneeze. He scarcely realizes it, but he lives in service to others. If he hears you have a leaky faucet, he'll not only bring you just the tools to fix it, he'll be under your sink mending it himself, even if it takes him hours... and while he's at it, he'll print you up a recent article about the best way to maintain healthy pipes. Sometimes I have to remind him to think of himself, because it is not in his nature to remember. But it's probably the thing I love most about him... and not just because he has gotten me quite used to being treated like a princess.

Stan is introverted, serious, contemplative. You won't know him instantly; it takes a while for him to let you in... but once he does, you will have a space reserved in his heart forever. He devours the newspaper, and a good piece of dark chocolate. He has endless curiosity about all walks of life, and thus can speak intelligently about almost anything. He cares deeply about the state of our world, and the world that will be handed to our children. He is also one of the funniest, goofiest people I've ever known. He makes our four-year-old laugh straight from his gut, and already can illicit a hearty guffaw from our four-month-old. Today as I got in the shower, I heard my three boys in the nursery. Addie was on "Diaper Duty", and the two of them were singing to Tucker and making him laugh. I listened to the sounds coming from that room, the laughs from those three distinct voices. And oh, the love that filled my heart...

It was nine years ago that Stan and I met; nine years ago he shook my hand and said those fateful words to me. "Hello. I'm Stan Chandler, and I'm going to be your husband." Of course he was only referring to the show we were about to do, but I like to think he was somehow channeling a higher truth about our destiny. Here we are, one house and two kids and a bundle of memories later. I can't imagine a time that he wasn't here, right by my side, right in the next room, singing and laughing.

That's the most beautiful thing about my husband. He doesn't realize it, but he took me by the hand and led me to my happiness.