*** continued from previous post ***
While Mom enjoyed a good scrubbing, I busied myself the way I do most mornings and promptly fell back asleep.
This time not the sleep of the dead, but more like 'Hey it's really cold because it's December and the electricity is out so let's bring that big honkin' BBQ into the house, fill 'er to the the brim with briquettes, and fire that baby up! That'll warm us all toasty and put a healthy glow into the kid's cheeks' kind of sleep.
Wait a sec. . . . ummm . . . I guess that's the sleep of the dead as well.
I don't know if you're aware, but another of Mom's and my favorite games is: If-David-Falls-Back-Asleep-Don't-Wake-Him-Until-It's-Five-Minutes-Before-The-Time-We-Have-To-Leave.
It's not my favorite game, as waking up in a modified panic does funny things to my heart and can cast a pall over my morning, but your mother has grown quite fond of it over the years. I don't share her enthusiasm, but she puts up with quite a bit from me so I allow her these simple pleasures.
I've asked her many, many, many times why she does this to me, to which she replies, "I woke you once. Be an adult and get your keister out of bed."
Silly, silly Mom. I've tried to explain to her that obviously, after all these years she KNOWS I'm going to fall back asleep, so why play this silly charade? Why not just wake me again?
To which she replies that I KNOW she won't wake me again, and I KNOW that I have to get up, so why do I insist on playing this silly charade and just get the hell out of bed?
Oh . . . now I get it! Gah! Well played good woman. I’ve done been bamboozled with me own logic.
*** the journey continues ***
Tampilkan postingan dengan label marriage. Tampilkan semua postingan
Tampilkan postingan dengan label marriage. Tampilkan semua postingan
Rabu, 01 Juni 2011
Selasa, 10 Mei 2011
This Is What Marriage Is All About
*** continued from previous post ***
"I have a question for you," Mom said and I wanted to bang my head against the wall because have you ever noticed that when someone says "I have a question" they say that for one of two reasons: One, they are preparing you for some kind of bombshell, as in "I have a question for you. Has the baby always been on fire?" Or two, they are not really asking you a question. What they are doing is establishing a logic framework in order to make an accusation, as in "I have a question for you. Where were you on the night of February 4th between the hours of 7 PM and 9 PM, and were you aware that not only were you being tracked by LoJack, but we have sequential security camera footage of you on your little adventure with the Camel and the Nuns and the AK-47 badly disguised as a doll?
Guess which line of questioning your Mother was pursuing.
"Oh good. Had a bit of time to ponder the day whilst I was showering, have we?"
She ignored my question, but narrowed her eyes all snake-like. If she were John Wayne I would have been staring down the barrel of a peace-maker and the lead would have been about to fly. She smiled, ever so slightly. There was not a hint of love nor kindness nor femininity in that smile.
"Did you pick up on the fact that this is more of a 'Bed and Breakfast' type place rather than a 'What would you like from the menu?' type place?" And of course she knew the answer to that, but as I said, that's not what this particular conversation was about.
My blood ran cold. For some reason, I had hoped that the powers-that-be would have taken pity on me after the gauntlet of our day and let this one rest. Just for tonight. Silly me and my silly expectations.
As you know, your Mother has many, many, many, many, (is she still reading over my shoulder?), many, MANY wonderful qualities and attributes. Being thrust into social situations with large groups of strangers is not among that pantheon. I can clearly recall having a discussion on this exact subject some . . . oh, I don't know . . . 7 or 8 thousand times in our life.
Phrases like 'I never want to stay in a Bed and Breakfast.", and "I can think of nothing more unpleasant than trying to make idle conversation with strangers first thing in the morning." and "If you ever book us in something like that there will be Hell to pay." sprang to mind.
I have one hope. I will play dumb.
"Really?" I say, and open my eyes all puppy like. "I didn't know that. Hmmmmm . . . Well, I guess we will just have to make the best of it."
I prepared myself for a lecture. I would have welcomed a harsh word, possibly some cursing. Slight physical punishment was not out of the question. But it was worse. Mom just shook her head and sighed.
"Let's get this over with," she said, and slipped damp tennis shoes on her pruney little feet. "If this is like the rest of our day they'll probably douse us with acid before dessert."
Great. Not only have I almost killed my love countless times on this trip, now I have disappointed her as well. This day just keeps getting better and better and better. Well played, Good Sir. Well played. I had been successful in inflicting the maximum emotional damage possible in the shortest amount of time while expending the least amount of energy. That, my young daughter, is what marriage is all about.
I slipped on my boots over my sore feet - my other shoes were very, very wet - and we made the short journey out the door, through the dark, and into the Lodge.
*** the journey continues ***
"I have a question for you," Mom said and I wanted to bang my head against the wall because have you ever noticed that when someone says "I have a question" they say that for one of two reasons: One, they are preparing you for some kind of bombshell, as in "I have a question for you. Has the baby always been on fire?" Or two, they are not really asking you a question. What they are doing is establishing a logic framework in order to make an accusation, as in "I have a question for you. Where were you on the night of February 4th between the hours of 7 PM and 9 PM, and were you aware that not only were you being tracked by LoJack, but we have sequential security camera footage of you on your little adventure with the Camel and the Nuns and the AK-47 badly disguised as a doll?
Guess which line of questioning your Mother was pursuing.
"Oh good. Had a bit of time to ponder the day whilst I was showering, have we?"
She ignored my question, but narrowed her eyes all snake-like. If she were John Wayne I would have been staring down the barrel of a peace-maker and the lead would have been about to fly. She smiled, ever so slightly. There was not a hint of love nor kindness nor femininity in that smile.
"Did you pick up on the fact that this is more of a 'Bed and Breakfast' type place rather than a 'What would you like from the menu?' type place?" And of course she knew the answer to that, but as I said, that's not what this particular conversation was about.
My blood ran cold. For some reason, I had hoped that the powers-that-be would have taken pity on me after the gauntlet of our day and let this one rest. Just for tonight. Silly me and my silly expectations.
As you know, your Mother has many, many, many, many, (is she still reading over my shoulder?), many, MANY wonderful qualities and attributes. Being thrust into social situations with large groups of strangers is not among that pantheon. I can clearly recall having a discussion on this exact subject some . . . oh, I don't know . . . 7 or 8 thousand times in our life.
Phrases like 'I never want to stay in a Bed and Breakfast.", and "I can think of nothing more unpleasant than trying to make idle conversation with strangers first thing in the morning." and "If you ever book us in something like that there will be Hell to pay." sprang to mind.
I have one hope. I will play dumb.
"Really?" I say, and open my eyes all puppy like. "I didn't know that. Hmmmmm . . . Well, I guess we will just have to make the best of it."
I prepared myself for a lecture. I would have welcomed a harsh word, possibly some cursing. Slight physical punishment was not out of the question. But it was worse. Mom just shook her head and sighed.
"Let's get this over with," she said, and slipped damp tennis shoes on her pruney little feet. "If this is like the rest of our day they'll probably douse us with acid before dessert."
Great. Not only have I almost killed my love countless times on this trip, now I have disappointed her as well. This day just keeps getting better and better and better. Well played, Good Sir. Well played. I had been successful in inflicting the maximum emotional damage possible in the shortest amount of time while expending the least amount of energy. That, my young daughter, is what marriage is all about.
I slipped on my boots over my sore feet - my other shoes were very, very wet - and we made the short journey out the door, through the dark, and into the Lodge.
*** the journey continues ***
Jumat, 25 Februari 2011
It's A Little Game Married People Play
*** continued from previous post ***
"Whoopsie!", I say, with a melodic lilt that manages to annoy even myself.
"Well great," Mom sighs.
It is now that my masculinity kicks into high gear. I need to take control. I will not stand idly by and let this cursed day get the best of me. I will solve this problem, like so many men before me have solved problems of their own creation.
I will lie.
"Look, standing here is doing us no good. Get on the back of the bike and we will push on. I know how to get to the Nordic Centre." (Lie #1)
"I'm sure Sweet Alice can get us that far, and probably a bit beyond." (Lie #2)
Really, it can't be that bad. (Lie #3)
“I told them in the note when I booked the place that we were coming in on motorcycle. (This is true.) If they thought we couldn't make it, they would have told me." (I believed this to be true.) It's going to be fine. (Lie #4)
Your mother - my wife, my companion, my friend, co-conspirator, cheer-leader and all around pal these last 30 years - knew right away I was spewing total bullshit.
"Fine," she said and without another word climbed on the back of the bike. Though silent, I could read her body language under the layers of clothing. She had not so much capitulated as she had decided, as if she were on a dare, to see how this would play out. And of course, then hold me accountable. It's a little game married people play.
I took a deep breath, fired the engine, and without further ado set off to find this Canadian / Scandinavian Cloning Facility masquerading as some sort of ski operation. I had turned the volume down on the GPS, but I could see our rough path laid out on the map to where Sweet Alice thought the PO Box might be. It was just a big arrow pointing towards the mountains on the other side of town. It did nothing to calm my nerves when the screen started flashing red and the word DANGER in all caps popped on and off the screen like a demonic jack-in-the-box. F' you Sweet Alice! I've had enough of your silliness for one day! I clicked into first and hit the gas. Right or wrong, I was at least moving and that felt good.
We wandered through the streets of Carnack for what seemed an eternity. Missing turns, pulling u-turns in parking lots, changing lanes abruptly - you know, all the stuff that makes taking a HUGE FLIPPIN' MOTORCYCLE THROUGH UNFAMILIAR TERRITORY DURING RUSH HOUR IN A MONSOON so exciting. But my perseverance paid off. At last, I spotted a sign for the Nordic Centre.
I patted your Mom's leg in what I hoped was a reassuring manner, and we took the turn into the mountains. It was probably gorgeous and breathtaking. I have no idea.
*** stay tuned - the journey continues ***
"Whoopsie!", I say, with a melodic lilt that manages to annoy even myself.
"Well great," Mom sighs.
It is now that my masculinity kicks into high gear. I need to take control. I will not stand idly by and let this cursed day get the best of me. I will solve this problem, like so many men before me have solved problems of their own creation.
I will lie.
"Look, standing here is doing us no good. Get on the back of the bike and we will push on. I know how to get to the Nordic Centre." (Lie #1)
"I'm sure Sweet Alice can get us that far, and probably a bit beyond." (Lie #2)
Really, it can't be that bad. (Lie #3)
“I told them in the note when I booked the place that we were coming in on motorcycle. (This is true.) If they thought we couldn't make it, they would have told me." (I believed this to be true.) It's going to be fine. (Lie #4)
Your mother - my wife, my companion, my friend, co-conspirator, cheer-leader and all around pal these last 30 years - knew right away I was spewing total bullshit.
"Fine," she said and without another word climbed on the back of the bike. Though silent, I could read her body language under the layers of clothing. She had not so much capitulated as she had decided, as if she were on a dare, to see how this would play out. And of course, then hold me accountable. It's a little game married people play.
I took a deep breath, fired the engine, and without further ado set off to find this Canadian / Scandinavian Cloning Facility masquerading as some sort of ski operation. I had turned the volume down on the GPS, but I could see our rough path laid out on the map to where Sweet Alice thought the PO Box might be. It was just a big arrow pointing towards the mountains on the other side of town. It did nothing to calm my nerves when the screen started flashing red and the word DANGER in all caps popped on and off the screen like a demonic jack-in-the-box. F' you Sweet Alice! I've had enough of your silliness for one day! I clicked into first and hit the gas. Right or wrong, I was at least moving and that felt good.
We wandered through the streets of Carnack for what seemed an eternity. Missing turns, pulling u-turns in parking lots, changing lanes abruptly - you know, all the stuff that makes taking a HUGE FLIPPIN' MOTORCYCLE THROUGH UNFAMILIAR TERRITORY DURING RUSH HOUR IN A MONSOON so exciting. But my perseverance paid off. At last, I spotted a sign for the Nordic Centre.
I patted your Mom's leg in what I hoped was a reassuring manner, and we took the turn into the mountains. It was probably gorgeous and breathtaking. I have no idea.
*** stay tuned - the journey continues ***
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