My husband and I have many similar interests. We love video games, baseball, and cats. We enjoy movies and board games of all kinds. 80's and 90's TV shows? We eagerly await each new DVD or Netflix release. However, there is one area where we differ vastly. My husband is a social butterfly and I am...whatever the opposite of a social butterfly is. The more people at a party, the happier he is - while I very much prefer a night of drinking with one or two friends while watching a movie, if not an evening by myself reading.
When Adam learned there was an active open-mic comedy group around our area, he was ecstatic. It was something he had always wanted to try. For me, just the thought of HIM being on the stage is nauseating, let alone the thought of ever doing it myself. It wasn't long before he had gotten in good with open-mic crowd and was attending open-mic nights in Virginia Beach and Richmond by request. He was very good with very little work.
I can't say this hasn't caused a little jealousy among the other local comedians. Some of them do this sort of thing, in their minds, full time - working meaningless jobs at McDonald's or Target, making just enough to get them from one comedy house to another. Adam works a corporate day job, thinks up a couple bits over a few days, and performs once or twice a week. And yet, within the first month, he was already being asked to do paid performances, every comedian's ultimate goal. Not that it's been "good" money, definitely not something he would ever consider quitting his day job for, but enough that it's made some people angry and jealous.
Adam had been doing comedy clubs for a little over a year and a half when he was asked recently to take over a trivia gig for one of his comedian buddies while he was out of town. Two months later, when his friend returned, the owner of the company gave Adam his own locations three nights a week, going so far as to sign a new bar to a contract just so Adam could have a third night. These are simple gigs: he shows up at a bar, sets up his sound system, and reads questions. Adam, being who he is, riffs off the questions, the energy in the room, and the people participating in the games. Everyone has a fun night, and Adam walks away with at least $75 a night, more than he made when he'd host big name comedians that came into the local comedy club for weekend shows.
On the one hand, this has been fantastic. It's added to our income to the point where I don't need to go back to work, Adam has his need for performance satisfied, and I don't have to listen to him try out new bits on me every time we talk (honestly, there'd be times where I'd stop him mid-story and ask if it was a new bit...when he'd respond yes, I'd tell him I'd much rather talk to my husband and not the comedian). On the other, I am home alone...a lot. During the days while he's at work, he'll pop in to share a 10-minute lunch with me, but three days a week, that's all I'll see him until close to midnight. There are times when it becomes almost unbearable, and I enjoy being alone.
It makes me wonder about those wives of travelling comedians or musicians, ones who are in a new city every night. They see their husbands even less than I do, so what on earth are they doing to stay sane? Is it perhaps our opposite personalities that cause this feeling? If I was a more outgoing type, the type that would be comfortable going with him and working the crowd while he's performing, would the situation be easier? Or perhaps if I was better at making friends through more than the computer?
Sometimes it's very hard to be the quiet little wife of the man on stage, the one promptly forgotten by everyone as soon as he steps into the light. All-in-all, I'm really proud of my husband and I'm glad that people seem to love him as much as they do, but I won't be too sad when he hangs up his part-time performance hat and settles down into the corporate lifestyle he also fits so well.
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