The missus and I were coming back from Cortez the other day where we had gotten into an argument and we hadn’t solved the problem by coming to the realization that I am an idiot and was wrong the entire time; which is how we usually solve our arguments.
Just this side of Dove Creek, we were both giving each other the silent treatment and I was enjoying the moment and thinking about my Sunday school lesson on charity when we passed a barnyard of mules and pigs and, my too kind and loving wife asked, “Relatives of yours?” Yep,” I replied. And muttered under my breath, “In-laws.”
I am in the kitchen trying to write an article, but really just checking my e-mail when a headline catches my attention. The question asks “Are you happy?”
I know that I am going to regret it, but I am suckered in and decide to click on the icon. It is sorta like eating that fourth cookie, I know better, but can’t resist.
I yell across the room to my too kind and loving wife and ask, “Hey honey, am I happy?” I always check with her on important things. This helps us avoid a lot of miscommunication and trouble, which, as I said, leads to arguments where we both eventually realize that I was wrong anyway.
She doesn’t look up from folding towels, “Of course you are… you married me didn’t you?” She often answers my question with a question, which is really annoying.
I wonder how she got through college and if she ever passed any exams if she always answers questions with questions. “Test Question 1: What is the circumference of a pie pan with a nine inch diameter?” I can imagine her answer, “Test Answer 1: Nobody eats pie anymore, so wouldn’t a nice healthy peach be better for them anyway?”
Test Question 2: What is the meaning of life? Test Answer 2: More importantly, why doesn’t that cute girl in the front row cover up so all the boys don’t ogle at her; especially my husband?”
I asked her once, “Do you think I am fat?” And of course she didn’t answer the question, she asked back, “Who said you were fat?” and gave my cheeks a squeeze so that my lips puckered up and kissed me.
When she walked away she stated with the factual finality of Wikepedia that “You know, fifty percent of the people in America are fat.” I look in the room there are only two of us; I can do the math!
My entire life is like this. Do you want to go to dinner? I don’t know where do you want to go?
Do I have any clean pants? Aren’t they hanging up?
Did you feed Turbo? Does he look hungry? Have you seen my shoes? Is it my job to keep track of them?
Do you know what time it is? Where is your watch?
Where is Daniel? Isn’t he in his room?
So there is a good reason that I am clueless. I can’t get a straight answer; in fact I can’t even get an answer at all.
It is so much easier talking to men. Do you want to go to lunch? Yep.
Want to help me move someone this Saturday? Nope!
Can I borrow your gun? Nope. Can I use your truck? Nope. Can I use your tools? Nope.
Do you know what time it is? Yep.
Where is Daniel? He doesn’t say a thing, just points with his lips and a nod of his head.
One time, someone called on the phone and was trying to conduct a survey by asking questions. I could only hear one end of the conversation; my too kind and loving wife’s responses. “I don’t know, what is his stand on taxes? Well, I am not sure, does he believe in public prayer? Listen young man, didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
This went on for some time with the frustration level rising on both ends of the line. Finally, she set the phone down and said, “He doesn’t want to talk to me and asked if there is anyone else at home. Should I tell him you are busy?” “Yep.”