The torment of knowing one all too well
I am not sure that I buy into the saying,
”
the more things change, the more they stay the same.
”
The longer I’m married, the less I agree with it.
How can a man who takes his pants off in the middle of the
living room every night promptly at 10:15, after both kids are
finally in bed, be someone I would find charming? Certainly not at
18 years old, when we met. I would have thought it gross and a tad
disturbing. Tragically, now I barely notice it. Hmm. Maybe it’s a
cry for attention. But he swears it’s more comfortable to be in his
underwear with the remote attached to his hand. Better reception,
perhaps?
The torment of knowing one all too well
I am not sure that I buy into the saying,” the more things change, the more they stay the same.” The longer I’m married, the less I agree with it.
How can a man who takes his pants off in the middle of the living room every night promptly at 10:15, after both kids are finally in bed, be someone I would find charming? Certainly not at 18 years old, when we met. I would have thought it gross and a tad disturbing. Tragically, now I barely notice it. Hmm. Maybe it’s a cry for attention. But he swears it’s more comfortable to be in his underwear with the remote attached to his hand. Better reception, perhaps?
Then again, from his perspective, I am sure he wonders why I never belched during our courtship. Now, we have contests after a meal of pizza and Coke, and he is amazed at what will come out of my mouth. Not to mention all of the other … er … gases that can accumulate after Burrito Night.
When we were dating, there was no way that he would have “forgotten” to flush. How do we become so comfortable? Is it a sign that we are meant to be or just that we get tired of the façade of actual manners?
The Husband calls me on my lack of manners in the kitchen. When cooking together, it is so much easier to use my hip to nudge him out of the way, rather than to say “excuse me, please.” Besides, in my life away from home, I am very courteous. Surely, that counts for something. I am always careful to remember my “pleases,” “thank yous” and my “may I’s.”
But then I think to myself that when we were first married, he knew that I squeezed the toothpaste tube in the middle and dried the kitchen sink with a paper towel every time I used it. I still do. It still makes him crazy. So, maybe there is some truth to that saying. We’re just adding new idiosyncrasies, meted out in small enough doses so our significant others don’t run screaming out the door.
My strange aversion to shared dairy products is something that has alternately made him smile, and roll his eyes. I can give anyone a bite of my sandwich, provided there is no cheese on it. If you have just eaten fifteen Oreos® and the only liquid around is my half-full (or half-empty, depending on my mood) glass of milk, I am sorry to say, you’re out of luck. Or if I am feeling charitable, you can have it. I just can’t offer a sip. I can’t have it back after that. No, you may not have a spoonful of my ice cream or yogurt. Just keep it. Please.
This is the polar opposite of The Husband. He was in the army for 8 years; an Infantryman. He doesn’t care what he eats or how it’s prepared. He is used to eating strange combinations of foods. He will gather all of the leftovers in the refrigerator and pile them onto one plate and mix it all up. Spaghetti living in harmony with last night’s Chinese. Sometimes, I think he mostly does it for my reaction; so disgusting. But, it means I never have to worry about where the cheese came from in that spaghetti.
The Girl has gone to the other extreme. Nothing on her plate can touch anything else. Lima beans, steak and potato are in their own space. Each bean neatly placed atop another, forming a perfect hill of beans, if you will.
We’ll let her Future Husband sort out those twisted little bits of neuroses, once she’s comfortable enough to let him know she has them.
