I know it’s the month of love and I should write a gooey blog about romance.
But, gooey is not my forte.
So I will write what is on my mushy mind.
When I say mushy, I mean mushy as in soft and pulpy in the head — not sentimental, as in conversation hearts that say things like “wink wink” or “cutie pie.”
If you’re a loyal blog reader, you know I love my husband.
He is and always has been the real deal in the best husband department.
I couldn’t ask for a better one.
So, knowing how I adore him, I’m going to tell you a few things he says that I really hate.
When I’m brooding over a decision, and I want his advice, he says, “You’ll know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’ll know.”
“You’ll know is not an answer!”
He just smiles, shrugs his shoulders and says it again, “Well, it’s true. You’ll know.”
“Why do you always say that when you know it makes me so mad?”
“Because it’s true. You’ll know.”
I’m a sharer.
I share everything, including my food at a restaurant.
“This is good. Do you want to try it?” I say, offering him my plate or forkfuls of deliciousness.
“I have my food. Why do you always ask me if I want to try your food when I have my own?”
“Because, people do that, they share. Women do it. If we like something, we share it.”
“I don’t like to share food. Why do we go over this every time we go to dinner?”
“I guess I think someday you’ll change, and it just seems like the polite thing to do.”
“I won’t change. I don’t share food.”
He says he is a sharer generally. He just doesn’t share food.
Evidence proves otherwise.
Sometimes he labels what is his so that it doesn’t get mixed up with what is mine.
Sometimes I foolishly say, “The portions are huge here. Do you want to get something and share it?”
Clearly, I’m a very dense woman after 25 years of marriage.
“No. If you want it, get it.”
“But, it’s huge.”
“Just eat what you can, and don’t worry about it.”
“But, why not share a dish, and then not waste?”
“How many times do we have to go over this?
“I. Don’t. Share. Food.”
“I’m wondering if I should take back these shoes. They probably cost too much.”
“Sunk cost,” he says, like the conversation is over.
“It’s not sunk if I can still return them.”
“You’ve already spent the money, so forget about it. Sunk cost.”
“I can’t believe how much I had to pay for that airline ticket.”
“Do you think we paid too much for the wedding?”
Before Nikki died, he randomly said, “Nikki’s been a good dog.”
“He’s not dead,” we always reminded him.
“I know,” he said, all sentimental and sad, “but he’s been a good dog.”
We were sad about Nikki dying years before he actually died.
Sometimes (actually, rarely) he asks me to go shopping with him.
To him, this means, go into one store, buy one item that he doesn’t even try on, and then go home.
To me, it means, actual shopping, as in browsing and touching soft and pretty things.
“What are you doing?” he says, when I start the real shopping.
“Shopping! I thought we came to shop.”
“We did that already. I got my shirt, and now it’s time to go.”
“That is not shopping. That is hunting. Now, we are shopping.”
“Okay, I’ll just sit right here until you’re finished.”
When I come home from an outing with girlfriends, he says, “Did you talk about your husbands?”
“No. We don’t talk about our husbands.”
“What do you talk about then?”
“Other stuff, not husbands.”
“You probably talk about personal, embarrassing husband things.”
“We don’t talk about our husbands.”
“I bet you do. Do you share things you shouldn’t share?”
Because he won’t drop the subject, I say, “We don’t talk about husbands —that much.”
And this goes on until I start making up salacious lies that make him nervous.
“Do you really say those things?” he asks, getting a little palm sweat going on.
Before the conversation is over, he doesn’t know whether any truths are sprinkled into my lies, but I think he deserves that because he never believes the first true answer.
Next time he asks me whether we talked about our husbands, I’m just going to say, “You’ll know.” Next time one of my friends looks at you funny. “You’ll know, husband dearest. You’ll know!”
Or maybe I’ll just say, “After all these years, don’t you know I don’t believe in sharing? hahaha
“Now, let’s go to the mall and hunt you down a shirt.”