What this mean is that, with my husband, I am so bad that I "might" be driven, but I am actually DRIVING all the time. I tell him which lane he should be in, tell him what speed he should drive (usually higher than the one he drives at), and better yet, I actually POINT the way HOME! As if he didn’t know where we live!! If I am in the car with him, he might be holding the wheel, but I am driving- I give him a lot of credit for bearing with me when we go somewhere. Do you know how hard it is for someone to always tell you, over and over again, how to get to your own apartment??? I can only imagine, so I love him so much more because he doesn’t yell at me, he doesn’t get upset, and he doesn’t even make fun of me (anymore). I would be the one getting upset and yelling at me. Ehm, at him, whatever!
What is best, though, is that while he never complains (I would say he has given up), sometimes I try to operate a certain degree of self restrain. That’s when he misses the exit, ends up in the wrong lane, and has to make impossible u-turns in ridiculously narrow roads. (Okay, it doesn’t happen ALL the time I manage to shut up, but sometimes is good enough and to the point!) I think this gives me moral latitude to point the way out loud for the next ten times we’re in the car together. And, yes, I still understand how much he must love me to put up with that!
While my husband is pursuing an MBA at the same as me while keeping a full time job to pay the bills, my friend’s husband is also in school, getting his JD in LA. We rarely talk about this side of our husbands, but today was venting day, and so we decided that it was time for it to happen. We just so happened to be talking about our fabulous weekend in Napa, a girls’ retreat that did all of us a lot of good, when I mentioned that my husband was a bit upset about leaving him behind and all alone on Easter day. Well, I wasn’t really having any of it, because:
1. 1. I have spent way too many weekends locked up at home because he needed to study;
2. 2. He was just in Italy for about ten days, doing little to no work, and
3. 3. I was NOT going to stay home just to hear he could not do anything ‘cause he has final this weekend.
I thought I was absolutely brilliant in deciding to spend the weekend away, and it turns out he was a bit disgruntled about it. My friend’s take was that although he did not want her to go visit, he decided to spend the weekend without studying. As said before, it’s good to know you’re not the first, nor the only person struggling with the same issues!
I am so ready for my husband to be done with school… I might be a pain when I am bored, but he’s a whiner when he’s miserable, and he’s been miserable several times (and WAY too often!) during the past year. And I understand the pressure of being a triple-A performers while keeping a full time job, but my argument is…
Are we really sure that the A+ in Organizational Behavior is better than spending a Sunday outdoor with your wife???
I can hear complaints already- OH MY GOD THAT’S DISGUSTING! Are you kidding?? We're talking about LOVE and MARRIAGE DURABILITY here!!
First things first, let’s clear it out of the way: the moment you males get married, you give up the rights to your skin blemishes. It’s embedded in the wedding vows, whether you like it or not, and you’ll have to patiently go through hours of “skin cleaning” from your wives. That’s it. It doesn’t work that you complain, whine, or even get mad: it’ useless. You officially hand over the rights the moment you get married, and in fact, I will say that the moment your wife stop pressing your zits, you should start doubting the solidity of your marriage.
I AM NOT KIDDING!!! My husband usually rolls his eyes at this point and tries to get away from me, but he also realizes that he needs to let me groom him, or I will get quite cranky.
There are three levels of intimacy with someone: the first one is when you kiss, and you experience the first exchange of body fluids in the form of saliva. Then there is- NOT oral sex and NOT petting (do teenagers these days still talk about petting?? Because, I swear, it wasn’t till I was past 18 that I finally figured out what it was!)- those come WAY after! The second level of intimacy is sex, penetration, “regular sex”, if you want. Then, the deepest level of intimacy known to mankind, the one that opens up everything else: Zit Pressing. When you get to groom your partner, there are no more known barriers- oral sex becomes natural, going number two in each other’s bathroom, burping- you name it, after zit pressing everything else is on the table. It’s pretty logical if you think about it: if something as disgusting as someone else’s skin infection or excess fat does not gross you out, nothing ever will. That’s when you know it’s true love!! I love my friends to death, and I have to say zit pressing is, if not impossible, almost completely inexistent. But my husband- oh, I would spend hours grooming him!
When we see a guy with, like, a very evident zit on his face, I would point at him and whisper in my husband’s ear: “The poor thing- you can tell nobody loves him!!” And when it is my husband himself coming home with a zit/ black head on his face, I always yell at him: “Look, your coworkers probably think I don’t love you!!”
It’s a clearly remarkable sign of love that someone would groom you. Actually, I understand this is not common topic of conversation, but if you talk to all your other married male friends, they will tell you exactly the same thing. So, stop being prissy and just give up: we’re going to groom you no matter what, and the sooner you start taking it the right way, the better for your marriage!
I hate clutter. Truly, truly hate it- and I am sure it’s because I have been a pack-rat in one of my previous lives (extending well into this one!). My latest incarnation has a total hate for packed closets, old clothing, useless paper. I am the Trash-Bin Queen, the Closet Warrior, the Goodwill Fairy. And I enjoy it.
What can possibly give you more pleasure than filling up a bag of junk, and donating it all to Goodwill? What is more pleasant than looking at an orderly closet, and realize it’s like that BECAUSE OF YOU! What can be as incredibly rewarding as throwing out old clothes to make room for brand new ones?? (Okay, I will admit that the most I have spent in clothing items in the past year has been $6.99 in a pair of slacks- I also happen to be a TJMaxx Digger, a Ross Raider, and a Lohemann’s Aficionados, but I think this is the topic of another post!) In any case, my husband is WAY clingier to “stuff” than I am.
When I first met him, we decided to live in the same room he had for the previous few years, in a large house with his (fantastic) roommates. This made for a very, very small closet for both of us. This is where I started my shedding of clothes, which applied to both mine and his. He did not particularly like this. His closet was packed-full of t-shirts and really, really bad short-sleeved shirts. These weren’t that hard to get rid of, as the clear understanding was that if I ever caught him with a short-sleeved shirt on, I would break up with him. However, the t-shirts proved to be a true challenge. I could not get rid of most of those, and one in particular- the infamous Einstein t-shirt. You know which one it is- it has a Einstein cartoon on it, and I believe it is smoking pot. The best I can describe it as is “juvenile”, but I would still frown upon a fourteen-year old boy wearing it. Do you have the picture?
I truly struggled with it, and it took me about two years to realize there was hope, and it resided in the Charity Note. Charity is one of the things that truly resonate with my husband, so I came up with the “Two-Year Rule”: anything that has not been worn in the past two years can find itself more useful in someone else’s closet, someone with less means, someone who can give justice to the cotton growers who harvested the balls, the children who transformed it into clothing, and retailers who sold it to us… I was SO proud of myself!! Right after stating the rule, I approached the closet, all happy to be able to fill a bag of Goodwill-bound material… and he materialized next to me wearing the Einstein t-shirt- on top of about three others who were on my shit-list. Those damn t-shirts are still in residence in our closet.
Although in principle my idea had mileage, and it DID provide some good old-fashioned closet-cleaning, I know how to take defeat. It is a counter effect of marrying a smart husband, you know?? He CAN and WILL outsmart you when he really cares about his t-shirts.
Now, once every year or so, I will catch a glimpse of him wearing that t-shirt under his shirt, or in bed, or packed for a vacation… and although I win many of my household battles, I totally realize when I need to surrender.
For example, take flying together. My husband will always, ALWAYS ask me whether I prefer to sit on the aisle, and I know the answer is no. The fact that he asks is a nice sign of chivalry, and it is sweet, but we have a clear understanding that if we travel together, I take the middle seat. Do you really think I like the middle seat??? When I travel alone, do I take the middle seat??? Who likes the crappy middle seat anyway??? If airlines EVER had a true innovation on their concept, they should eliminate middles seats all together. What’s worse is that they KNOW: when you register for an airline’s miles program, you have to state a seat preference, and it’s always between aisle and window. Nobody ever asks you whether you prefer the middle seat- that alone should tell you something, don’t you think?? Enough digression- nobody likes the middle seat, so why should my husband ask me? Well, either he or I will have to seat there, and there’s always a choice. And seriously, I DO PREFER the middle. Why? Well, aside from being the right answer, if I ever choose to take the aisle and stuck him in the middle I know it will make for a very cranky flying husband, who for about 4 or 5 hours will be really brewing storm, and he’ll be even worse when we get off, and I get a cranky husband for at least a ten hours span. Now, I am not dumb, and I can take the middle seat without being cranky for 10 hours. I know the right answer, and it’s more- it’s the truth, it’s not just to please him. I don’t prefer the aisle. It’s an answer that has the nice side effect of sparing us a feud and a stupid bickering- and the answer is no, plain and simple.
I can take the aisle, but I cannot take criticism of my cooking, my planning (especially if I took the burden to plan when no one else did!), my sense of directions, and my general wifely skills. Questions that relate to any of the above, even in passing, have a right answer that my husband ALWAYS knows- not just to humor me, it’s a true and honest answer. If it wasn’t sincere, every marriage would be just a comedy, a race to find the right lies to please our partners… Our marriage is not a comedy, and I never even for a second doubt his honesty when he answers, and neither does he. He knows very well which ones are the right answers, and in exchange he takes the aisle seat, the best cut of meat, the largest portion of food, the laundry done (and folded, but not put away nor ironed!), and the last bite of the most delicious dessert which I ended up ordering.
Right answers are not about just saying them, it's about believing them. They become natural, second nature, all you need to do is just tell the truth. They are for sure the foundation of every solid marriage- or at least, they play a HUGE role in mine!!
I was visiting with my friend today, and I just LOVE her apartment. She lives in a wonderful condo on the Oakland hills, with a magnificent view of the whole Bay, Bridge to Bridge. However, the thing I absolutely ADORE among all others is the fact she painted her living room walls RED. They are fantastic, rich, I always feel like I can try and lick them, and they'll taste like cherries and wine... not like I would actually lick my friend's walls, but you get the idea. In any case, I was complimenting her color choice and complaining because my husband has vetoed my wall color palette, which included a “brothel red” wall in the bedroom, at least a red wall in the living room, and an entirely blood-red dining room. I DO think I used adjectives like "stubborn", "boring" and “unimaginative”.
What I am actually blogging on today is what she said to me afterwards: "My husband knows better than to put up a fight with me over house décor- he knows he needs to pick his battles". Simple, lapidary, effective- this is the reason she's one of my best friends!
Not all husbands necessarily know how to do that, and although I think mine is quite skilled, he is still learning certain things. For example he knows how to tolerate my back-seat driving without yelling at me (like I would), and he knows better than to move things around the kitchens in spaces that have not been pre-approved by Her Majesty Royal Pain In the Butt (yes, that’s me). But house décor is still something he cannot let go. He is not persuaded that watching “Trading Spaces” and “Flip That House” is entitling me to be Chief Decoration Officer at home. He is not even persuaded that I DO hold the position of Chief Styling Officer, too, after watching way too many episodes of “What Not To Wear”- although he does wear the things I buy him, and doesn’t complain too much about the things I will not allow him to wear. (Yes, TLC is my favorite channel). So, he is still trying to battle me on the grounds of home furnishing. As my friend has wisely stated, he has not mastered the technique of choosing his battles. Yet.
