Oscar Wilde, in The Importance of Being Earnest, created an all-occasions excuse for anything his rascal characters didn’t want to do. They couldn’t make an appointment because a dear imaginary friend Bunbury was so ill and near death that he needed immediate, indefinite attention. I think the use of such a response ought to be enlarged to meet any situation, not just requests for engagements.

Consider for example…. Many questions asked by a wife put a husband on treacherous ground. “Does this make make me look fat?” must be answered with an immediate “No!” and the answer must be immediate and emphatic. Any pause or slip will telegraph an uncertainty, and therefore, it does make her look fat, and you’re insensitive for saying so. On other occasions, though, I have found my own Bunbury.

Two years ago, I had cataract surgery, a ten-minute outpatient routine, followed by a day of blurred vision and a week of eyedrops. It was no big deal but became a great catchall. “Kurt, what do you think about this color? Do I look anaemic?” “I had a cataract, so I have a fake lens and my other eye is growing a cataract, so I can’t say for sure.” Soon, this was shortened to “I have a cataract.” For more serious questions, I have a backup.

Five months after cataract surgery, I had a detached retina. Today’s medicine is amazing and the surgeon reattached it, followed by two months of blurry vision, and a permanent need for glasses and a wavy-line effect on far away objects because the back of my eye is no longer perfectly oval. For serious questions, such as “Is this where we turn?” I now say simply, “Detached retina.” This excuse is supported by the surgeon’s warning that I can no longer get into fights, which means no wifely boxing. I am such a lucky man.

Consider:
“You call yourself a writer? Didn’t you see those typos?” “Detached retina.”
“Didn’t you see that the washing machine was full of whites?” “Cataract.”
“What was the name of the guy who sold us the scratched refrigerator?” “Sorry. Cataract.”
“Have you seen my keys (glasses, book, purse, scarf, gloves, travel mug)?” “Cataract.”
“Should I wear the blue sweater or the green?” “Detached retina, sorry.”
“When do we have to leave to get to the play on time?” “Cataract.”

I will admit that you have to have the perfect wife for this system to work, but if you do, then Bunbury away. Everyone should have a Bunbury.