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February
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Three Cheers for the Family Life Marriage in the 90s It seems there are countless re-marriages nowadays, mine included. I married a wonderful man last year. In fact the 23rd of this month marks our first anniversary. Russ doesn't talk much and this creates a problem in our marriage because I talk all the time. Now if one is used to talking to themselves I guess it wouldn't matter very much if the husband answered or not but I am a WOMAN and I need input, even if the only responses I get are the left brain/right brain type. That's why every opportunity I get I use the situation to collect a variety of the stupid things Russ says and does. At least I then have (memories) to fall back on until the next time he proclaims his natural male ability to screw up. Title: Mr. Fearless Having arrived safe and sound, I sit here shoes off, legal tablet on the clip board; pen to paper and relax. I've just been passenger to a 180 mile, three and a half hour trip to my in-laws home in Waynetown, Indiana. I used to love to ride when I was younger. My brother Joe and I would pass away the time playing the alphabet game, which usually ended in a heated argument as to who claimed the letter first or being a child with a vivid imagination, I would be thrilled at having the opportunity to view scenery in motion. However now that I am the wife and find myself riding in the shot gun seat I do pay attention, I pay close attention to the driving habits of my husband known from here on out as Mr. Fearless. Although the speed limit is 65, my husband does 75. If it were 75, he'd go 85. In response to my fears he only gives me a stupid grin reminding me, "Fearless, I'm a fearless man ; Baby!" "It's obvious then that you haven't noticed Mr. Traffic Tamer behind us", I smirk back at him. Of course he slows to the lawful speed until the officer has past us in pursuit of an offender even more fearless that my husband. As he accelerates he tells me that the law does allow for 5 mph over the speed limit. He casually lays his seat back, lowers the arm rest and prepares to exit the main highway for the scenic route of the two lane State Road. Ut oh! My mind is telling me this is not good as soon as I notice the farming combine a mile or so ahead creeping along at 15 mph. I begin to search the recesses of my mind for the long ago high school days of algebra lessons to calculate the distance/speed/impact ratio.I vie for the simpler problem solving math instead and mindfully direct my vocal cords to let loose with a loud, "STOP" just at the same moment Mr. Fearless has perceived the possibility of a fatality and gently applies the brake. My own right foot has found the invisible passenger's brake and is pressing firmly into the dashboard. Of course to me, a normal sighted person of average intelligence I see that we are only inches away from a collision with this twelve ton beast of hardened steel. But not Mr. Fearless, he calmly looks at me saying; "Honey we've got plenty of room. I know what I'm doing!" I could kill him at this point but instead I grab a book and decide not to watch us get killed reasoning that maybe it won't be so bad if it comes as a surprise to me too. As I read I begin to feel the car swaying to and fro and force myself to look up. There he is at 25 mph playing peek-a-boo. The oncoming traffic is zooming by at the normal speed of 60 mph, given the lawful excess of 5 mph. Mr. Fearless is still the one foot of comfortable distance away from the combine and quite relieved I see that our distance is expanding. I decide, foolishly that I can watch this, he has finished playing his role as an Indy 500 driver and this may be the pleasant part of the ride. Suddenly I am catapulted into a near G-Force rate of speed as he stomps on the accelerator gaining momentum like that of a striking snake and zoom, we're at 60, 70..my God 80 mph; driving carelessly head on into on coming traffic. My husband's knuckles are white from their grip on the wheel as he passes the combine, not looking at the traffic we are about to collide with but the driver of the combine as he shouts, "Look at that idiot Honey. Did you see him speed up as soon as he saw me coming around? People like that shouldn't be able to drive!" We swerve back into our own lane just in the nick of time. Mr. Fearless pats my leg and says, " See Honey, piece of cake!" Anyway we have arrived safe and sound. Mr. Fearless has now shifted into Mr.Discovery as he has found the ‘ clap on' lamp in his parent's living room completely fascinating. He's calling me now to come and get a load of this' telling me that the lamp comes on when he claps. I can not quote you the date this clapping method was borne however I can recall that it is definitely not a new invention which leads me to wonder where my husband's mind is during televised commercials. "Honey, come here....watch this!" I can hear the repeated claps and his utterings of, Well now, this ain't right. More clapping in rapid succession followed by, "Okay Honey I've got it figured out now, get in here." Laying my pen down , shaking my head in disbelief and exhaling my thoughts of how naive can he be?, I slowly stroll into the living room to find him reading the connection box that has the instructions displayed on it. Noticing me he gives me that' please don't tell me how it works' look and I oblige him by remaining silent, afterall it is his discovery! "It has to be three claps," he informs me as he proceeds with what has become my favorite form of his descriptive choice, show and tell. He claps three times, no light. He does it again, no light. He snaps his fingers three times rapidly, no light. He whistles shrilly three times, no light. Finally he reverts to the clapping, clap..clap..clap, on comes the light. "See, I told you I'd figure it out." I just smile at him, shake my head and say, "Honey, you are amazing!" I find that men absolutely hate it when the wives' tell each other all the stupid things our husbands' do. They feel betrayed and exposed and we.....we just find it too funny to keep to ourselves. So here is one more of Russ's latest left brain/right brain activity. What's For Supper? How many times have we asked our husbands and children what they'd like to have for supper only to get the response long after we started something due to their one hour time frame of required response time? They almost never answer us as if we can read their minds. Worse yet, are the times we ask a simple yes or no question such as, "Would you like to have chicken?" Then ten or fifteen minutes later we hear a response of multiple choice questions. "Do we have any fish? Did you pick up any hamburger at the grocery? When's the last time we had barbecued ribs?" Well, for those of us who have husbands who never make decisions we tend to cater to them when they muster the confidence to voice a preference and we play this game of what's for supper. Today was my day to play with my husband. "Uh, I like meatloaf, he informs me, how long does that take?" Of course I am left to ultimately decipher the true meaning of his I like meatloaf statement, which is that he'd like for me to make meatloaf for supper. But I want to play with him. Why make it easy for him? So after some time has passed I interrupt his intense focus on the basketball game and ask cheerfully (just as the score is being announced) " Do you want meatloaf for supper then?" Any woman reading this article already knows the response my husband gave! Without even looking away from the set he mumbled, "Uh huh!" Any woman can also tell you that this unexpected request finding fulfillment depends greatly on our mood at the time, regardless if all ingredients needed are present and accounted for. We may choose to simply ignore the request or we may pull out one of our many' you lied to me (but you don't know I know you lied) redeemer slips and say, "Ah, I would fix that for you Honey but we don't have any hamburger." If he persists with the usual grunts and mumbled utterings we may simply warm up some chicken noodle soup(aware that it gives him heart burn) and slap an open loaf of bread on the table( so the crusts will harden(just the way he hates it) and declare in a most sorrowful loving tone that we need to write hamburger on our grocery list so we can fix that for him tomorrow. Why do these things happen you may wonder? Well, let me tell you! It's because there are days that we women feel like nothing more than a live-in maid, the loving laundress, bookkeeper and accountant, filer of Insurance forms, chauffeur and tutor and oft times we are expected to shift into the femme fatale seductress immediately after finishing the supper dishes. Husbands please ask yourself if your wife is the one designated to remember all the family birthdays, your family included? Is it she who sees to it that every holiday everyone gets their appropriate share of the good presents' usually bought throughout the year and stored for the occasion? Does she constantly remain updated on what foods cause the assorted health problems and adjust your diet? "Oh yes Dear, I'll fix that meatloaf. I'll interpret your body language and your primal grunts just like I always do" He looked away from the set, his eyes glazed over with the thought he may miss the score and declared, "Huh ! You fixin' meatloaf ?" And Russ...dear one, I know you'll be slightly upset that I've used your private moments of reality as material this month but Honey; if other men found the time and energy to respond to this article you would soon learn you are not alone. As for your question of which side of the bread do you put the butter on ? Any woman will tell you it goes on the right side. Ladies if you have anything to share about your own husband please do click on my name at the bottom of this page and e-mail it to me. Until next month when we meet again, take care. Your friend and partner in crime, Rose |
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