I’m sure there’s some cosmic reason why men and women are with each other–one of the universe’s cruel jokes is what I’m thinking–I mean what other reason could there be? We have absolutely nothing in common with each other. Even the simplest things…like speaking the same language…which, by the way, we *don’t* do. Except that we *totally* do. It’s kinda fucked up.
Take me and my husband for instance.
“Good morning,” he says.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, my hair matted to my head, my vision blurry and my brain screaming for coffee.
“I mean ‘Good Morning.’ That’s all. How did you sleep?” I notice then he grips his coffee mug with both hands and stares deep inside it. Maybe all that milk and sugar holds some answers to the bigger questions. Or…maybe not.
“What are you trying to say? What. Did I ‘sleep fart’ again? Or, or, or, let’s see…hmm…did I snore? Cuz you know I don’t snore, right? But you’re totally trying to say that I snore. Is that it?”
I hear him sigh.
He’s mocking me.
What’s worse? I’m sure inside he’s laughing at me.
Mother Fucker.
“Shauna,” he says with a calm calmness, “I didn’t do anything. All I said was good morning and asked you how you slept.”
“YES!” (Now I’m pointing at him) “But what you *meant* was, ‘how dare I go to bed before you, leaving you with the task of tucking in the children.’ I *know* this ‘how did you sleep routine.’ I fucking *invented* it.”
Another audible sigh.
I hate when he acts mature.
Asshole.
“You know what?” he says, slapping the kitchen table and standing up. “Forget it. Forget I said anything. Forget I said Good Morning. Forget I asked how you slept. Just pretend that you walked in here and I told you to Fuck Off.”
“Oh, so *now* I see how you really feel about me.”
“I’m getting a new wife.”
“Yes. That’s probably a good idea. You OK with having spaghetti for dinner tonight?”
“Sure. Sounds good to me.”
“Great. Have a nice day at work.”
“You have a good day too. Or not. Whatever.”
He leaves the kitchen and walks to the bedroom. And I pour another cup of much needed coffee and make a note to go buy pasta sauce.
I love our early morning talks. It reminds me why I got married in the first place. If we didn’t do this, I would have never learned that he likes spaghetti.
*I’m telling you. I should totally write a book on how to have a successful marriage.
{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
This pretty much reads like every morning in my house. Except with more punches being thrown. My wife gets a bit violent when she’s tired.
What? You didn’t explore the undertones in his acceptance of having spaghetti? Obviously he resents the fact that you’re making pasta!
are you spying on us?
Geez, I hope you buy the right pasta sauce or it sounds like there will be REAL fireworks over dinner.
Ahhhhh Romance its like matter in the universe it never dies..it just changes forms!
Why did I think you weren’t married? LOL
And why do I get TWO pictures on my comment? Cool!
men are such awesome communicaters aren’t they? then they we women never say what we mean
Does saying fuck you to your spouse count as sex? Just wondering….cause your answer will either mean i have a really busy sex life, or a kinda sad one. LOL
That whole spaghetti issue can be risky around here. I’m a bitch of a cooking dictator because I generally do all the cooking.
Any suspicious sighs, eye rolls, coughs or grunts could be interpreted as criticism which is considered a crime against my person.
I’ve been married a LONG time and my husband quickly found out that any spaghetti tastes better than how it looks on his head.
U R sick!
It is your dad’s fault.
NU
Write it. I’ll read it.
I forget to come here on a regular basis but I’m so happy when I do. mwah!
So funny! And so true! You have such a gift with the funny, silly, crazy nuances that make a relationship. You go right ahead and write that book about marriage. I know I’LL buy it!
“hey..the alarm is going off still” i say
“mmmm arrr” he mumbles which is code for “hunny i am so lucky to have you in my life let alone waking up to your voice in the morning
“listen asshole, I am late, and the girls have school. i am kidnapping our son and taking him to daycare to hold hostage” i get furious when I am ignored
“aaaaaaaaaaarashm shemamil” he retorts, which is so obviously translated into ” dont worry darling, you go and make sure you aren’t late. ill make sure the girls are ready and at school on time. i’ll wake up now and make breakfast for them and will pull the chicken out of the freezer”
mother fucker is right shauna! but, if these conversations didn’t unveil in the morning, who would be inspired to make the coffee???? there is no shame in pizza sauce.
Hilarious! As Homer would say: “The problem is communication. Too much communication.”
I wish this ONLY sounded like my wonderful married mornings, but this happens AT LEAST FOUR TIMES A DAY!!!!!! My friends have witnessed it and say “WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?”, I just respond “I LOVE MY WIFE”.
Spaghetti is not often served at our house. “He” prefers the fare at the local Italian restaurant, go figure. Also, my husband never eats it uncooked, cold or warmed over. (The kids eat uncooked spaghetti! What’s up with that?) In fact, I think he is allergic to leftovers.
On a different note, I don’t blog; but he reads my e-mail and that P—– me off!!!!!
If I were TG’s wife I would never treat him like you do SG! you should be ashamed…..
@TG! I LOVE SPAGHETTI! and I dont snore TG! Call me!