Spousal Revelation
Posted on October 16, 2007
Filed Under marriage, suburban joys, self interview, milestones, My Better Half |
I love memes because they allow me to take up the torch that someone else has painstakingly lit and run with it. And recently both Slouching Mom and Amanda kind of passed the flame on to any of their readers willing to divulge a little information on their marriage. And now that I’ve just spent over an hour composing the following answers that reveal the true person beyond the vague and slightly abused on-line presence known as ‘My Better Half’, I can officially say my novel will never, ever get finished. I’m just too good at procrastinating.
So here’s the result of an hour of spousal revelation. Enjoy.
P.S. Disclaimer: This is not an entirely auspicious time to tackle this meme. My Better Half is currently in week two of a three week business trip. I may be feeling slightly grouchy and under-appreciated and, well, put upon. Just know that and carry on.
1. Who is your man?
What does this question really mean? I’m quite sure we’re not supposed to reveal proper names in the Blogosphere so there must be something descriptive I’m supposed to say here. ‘My man’ is a distractable, computer obsessed sort of genius; a thirty-something, disheveled but handsome version of a mad scientist; unbrushed hair, too much coffee, chewing on the end of pens and on his cuticles and anything else not nailed down while still wearing his pajamas and pacing from the home office to the kitchen and back while solving the technological problems of the world or at least those of his small company. He is so dedicated to his position as king problem solver and application developer that he is often seen dashing in to the office to answer the ringing phone in the middle of a family dinner or at 9:30 p.m. on a Saturday night or at 11 a.m. on a Sunday. I am left wondering if he is in fact saving lives or small villages in Africa. In fact, the only time he cannot be reached for damage control and something called “server crashes” is anytime after 3 a.m. and before 8:30 a.m. because everyone needs at least thirty seconds of sleep.
2. How long have you been together?
Decades. Okay, a decade and a half. That sounds like a really long time doesn’t it?
3. How long did you date?
Well, I’m not sure we’ve ever properly dated. We started out as roommates, he the only male in a house of three young women and, soon, we just sort of quietly folded into one another. (I mean he and I not he and all three young women. Just clarifying.)
The following year he refused to live with all of us young women again. He just couldn’t stand the back to back 90210/Melrose Place marathons. We still ‘dated’ while he lived on the opposite side of Atlanta with his friend Dweeb, I mean Dave. It was a rocky year, (have you ever tried to drive 25 miles through Atlanta at rush hour?) at the end of which we called it quits and he moved back to Florida.
I proceeded to date a series of creeps and total losers while living in a tiny one bedroom apartment on the fringes of one of Atlanta’s most dangerous neighborhoods and made an hour long commute to Marietta each day to toil away as a staff reporter for the Marietta Daily Rag, I mean Marietta Daily Journal. You can imagine that, when My Better Half and I started to talk by phone again, and he eventually suggested I move to Florida, I was pretty open to the idea.
4. How old is your man?
Thirty-five. Or is it thirty-six? Oh damn, we’re getting so old that I can no longer keep track.
5. Who eats more?
I do. (I gasp and hide my face in my hands with shame). My Better Half doesn’t believe in carbohydrates. He has incredible will power. He considers the exclusive consumption of Diet Coke, coffee, peanuts and red meat, mostly in the form of beef jerky, to be a perfectly acceptable and well rounded diet. By some miracle, he makes it out of bed each day and when I trick him into having his cholesterol checked, it’s always astonishingly average.
6. Who said “I love you” first?
Oh, probably me (as I said, he has great will power) but I have to admit I can’t remember how the whole thing went down.
7. Who is taller?
He is 6′1″ and I am 5′8″. It’s a nice fit.
8. Who sings better?
Better is just a degree of awful in this case. We are both atrocious singers and serenades have not been a big part of our romantic life. Though we can belt out a mean version of Up Where We Belong. Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes beware. Where the eagles fly/On a mountain high.
Don’t worry, it’s entirely an inside joke that began one long road trip from Georgia to South Florida. We were so very, very bored.
9. Who is smarter?
Welllll…. I guess I’ll have to concede this one to him though it pains me so. If we’re talking SAT scores than he’s the decisive victor but in terms of emotional intelligence, well let’s just say he’s almost autistic when it comes to office politics. And I can storm around the house, slamming drawers and doors and giving him the silent treatment for what amounts to weeks before he senses the disaffection.
He is an intellectual giant and emotionally challenged. Let’s leave it at that.
10. Whose temper is worse?
Mine all mine (See above). I often wonder if he even has a temper. And sometimes I go out of my way just to provoke it. I always feel better when I get a little rise out of him. It’s my way of taking his pulse.
11. Who does the laundry?
Sigh, me again. Over and over. All day long. He will fold laundry but only after I carry it down the stairs and dump it in his lap while he’s watching the Red Sox game. If he wants to pee, get a glass of water or otherwise move, he’ll need to fold the load. Simple strategy. Works every time.
12. Who takes out the garbage?
This is tricky. I think I do it the majority of the time though he will do it when cajoled. On Monday nights, when it’s time to drag the heavy barrels all the way down the long gravel drive and to the curb, I must remind him or it will be forgotten. So, sometimes it’s just easier to do it myself unless there’s weather involved. I don’t do rain, sleet or temperatures below 40.
Did I mention that just taking the bags from the kitchen trash to the garage barrels requires a 50 yard walk to a detached carriage house which is a mighty unattractive slog come January. I will let it pile up in the mudroom until he’s unable to access the bathroom without taking the garbage out. He drinks a lot of Diet Coke. Simple strategy. Works every time.
13. Who sleeps on the right side of the bed?
The right side if I’m facing the bed or if I’m in it? (How come no one else had trouble with this question?) Let’s put it this way. I am the first responder and therefore inhabit the bed position closest to the door and closest to wandering children with bad dreams and stomach aches and throw up down the front of their pajamas. He claims that he can’t hear all the chaos when it happens at 4 a.m. I know what he’s thinking, “Simple Strategy, ha, ha , ha. Works every time.”
14. Who pays the bills?
I do. My Better Half has a very fluid interpretation of the words “Due by Sept. 25th.” He’s also very absent minded. And is incredibly, infuriatingly blase about overdue charges.
15. Who is better with the computer?
No contest. I gladly concede this category to him. I’m a total Luddite.
16. Who mows the lawn?
We share this task only because I will nag and nag and nag until he eventually caves. Also, doesn’t a mower count as a power tool. He’s always more willing to oblige when there’s a power tool involved. When it comes to raking or weeding. No way. That’s my dominion.
17. Who cooks dinner?
Sadly, he has never cooked dinner for me. In fact I tried the whole Tuesday-night-is-Dad’s-Night-to-Cook routine and we’d end up with an ordered pizza which I consider a valuable weapon in my arsenal, one I’m not giving up considering I’m in charge of nourishment every day of the week. So Tuesday didn’t work out that well. Peanuts and a beef jerky weren’t what I had in mind.
18. Who drives when you are together?
He does, almost always, unless we’re looking at real estate and then I get carsick if I’m not driving. He’ll relinquish the keys if I threaten to vomit.
19. Who pays when you go out?
We share our money because I don’t have any. He likes to be the one who lays the card down but, in the background, I’m directing. “No, not that card. That’s the one with staggering interest rate, dummy.” He proceeds to card two. “Nooo, we’re maxed out there. Don’t do that.” It goes on like this until we decide upon the card that will cause us the least amount of future debt.
20. Who is most stubborn?
Who me? Stubborn?
21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong?
Again, who me? Stubborn?
22. Whose parents do you see the most?
We’re taking turns with this one. We spent 10 years in Miami where we saw my family only several times a year. His family were all within a two mile radius. We saw his family a lot.
Now that we’ve moved North we see my family more. That is until my parents fly South for the Winter. And then it’s just us, up here at the top of the world wondering why the hell we live her when all the babysitters are in Florida.
23. Who kissed who first?
He definitely kissed me first. As I recall, I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth after a lonnngggg night of drinking. It was $2.50 pitcher night at Maggie’s Tavern, a collegiate requirement. He sort of listed into the bathroom and made some stumbling attempt to sweep me off my feet. I had to stop the power play to spit the toothpaste into the sink and then he resumed his advances. It was so romantic.
24. Who asked who out?
We never really went out on dates seeing as we were sharing rent already.
25. Who proposed?
He proposed with a Big Gulp. We were parked outside a 7-Eleven and he went in while I remained in the car. He returned wielding a large soda, handed it to me and asked me to marry him. I told him better luck next time. I’m talking two carats and platinum my friend. Diet Coke ain’t gonna do it.
Later that summer he proposed properly. Down on one knee, gorgeous ring in hand, never mind that he had blood pouring out of his nose and all over the beautiful courtyard of the Gardner Museum. I said yes, and we immediately retreated to the bathroom to shove toilet paper up his nose. Another romantic moment for us. He’s not had a bloody nose since.
26. Who is more sensitive?
Who me? Sensitive? First I’m forced to admit to my advanced stubbornness and now I get to cop to sensitive too? I’m developing an inferiority complex while completing this exercise.
27. Who has more friends?
I do. He’s a terrible correspondent and sort of emotionally retarded. He just doesn’t get the vagaries of friendship. You can see why our relationship only worked when living in the same house.
28. Who has more siblings?
I do.
29. Who wears the pants in the family?
While I’d like to say me, I think that we actually each have a leg. (How’s that for diplomacy.) Because I’m more sensitive and stubborn and my emotional radar is more acute, it would seem that conflict and resolution fall to me. Because I am not preoccupied with software development and saving small villages in Africa, I plan birthday parties and keep track of soccer schedules and know when the dog needs her heartworm pill. So what I’m trying to say is: my leg is bigger, longer and made of silk duponi. He wears pants that looks a little bit like one-sided denim capris. But we’ve both got a leg in those pants and that’s what counts.
If, after this rant, you crave a true and raw and emotionally mature take on marriage please visit yesterday’s post, Ring of Fire, over at Notes to Self. I haven’t read anything so telling and true in a long, long time.
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