My Man

Did my husband (my husband!) listen to all the reasons why I find Hilary Clinton someone that I would be proud to vote for and still end up posting an article that refers to her as a "harpy" then goes on to say other nasty--and biased--things?

One of these days that man is gonna quit it with this independent thinker thing that keeps getting him told off. I believe in freedom of speech, really I do, but the man should have the wisdom and plain old common sense to just give in and think the way I do!

Ah well. It is possible, just possible mind you, that having a husband with the bad taste to sometimes ignore my opinion in favor of one of his own is one of the things that make life interesting.

Seriously though, did you go vote last Tuesday? Will you vote in the next election? In a democratic nation, the people who fail to vote also fail to speak.

My husband and I used to joke about what we will do when we get voted in as the eternal rulers of the universe. The discussions sometimes got a little...um...warm. Ninety-nine percent of the time, we agree. It was no fun to argue--discuss!--the things we agree on, so we talked about what we would do about gun control, the boy scouts, abortion, WMDs, political correctness and the few other interesting topics where our opinions diverge enough to make things interesting.

Somehow, as the years have slipped past, we have fallen into the boring habit of not having heated arguments--I mean discussions!--about things that are not particularly important to the circle of our own family life. I am unable to decide if that is because we have matured past the point of thinking that love means becoming clones of each other, or if we just got too busy working together to have time to fight with each other over stuff that did not matter within the family circle.

I am seriously considering picking a fight with him tonight. Right here. In public where anyone can see. I am grinning as I contemplate the idea. He has, over these many months, posted about a million sentences that I could disagree with. He has said a gadzillion things that I basically agree with, but used word choices that I consider too rough. My beloved has deliberately thrown down a gauntlet and I am almost REQUIRED to pick it up.

Or not. I have to think about this. Maybe even ask him if he thinks he could handle the stress of getting picked on in public by his nearly-perfect spouse. He has, in the past, made it very clear that he would rather run barefoot over gravel, chasing an armed man (An actual incident, by the way. He chased the bad guy while I comforted the bad guy's abused wife. Just another normal day in our not-so-normal life.) than feel that I am seriously annoyed with him. The first he finds a pleasant diversion from an otherwise humdrum existence, the second is a threat to his sense of well-being.

Were I honest, and I have no intention of being honest at the moment, I would admit that I get just a tad uncomfortable when I think he is upset with me.

I figured out how to change the name. I can probably figure out what happened to my lost entry. But, why should I? I'll call my husband, and he'll fix it for me.

I was alone for many years, and if I wanted something to happen, I figured out how to do it myself, paid someone else to do it, or decided it wasn't worth the effort or the sacrifice. A little over a decade ago, the spoiler came into my life. Now, should a task involve computers or physical labor or a combination of the two, my love does it for me. I've also been known to call him to kill a bug or two. I am unsurprised when doors open for me. I expect chairs to move into position when I approach a table. I have never seen much value in being a lady, but I've learned to enjoy being treated like one.

My husband is a host of contradictions. He's more intelligent than anyone else I could name. In between being Einstein or a rocket scientist, he comes off like a bone-headed neanderthal. He's gentle and kind and sometimes unbearably rude. I sometimes cringe at what he's willing to say. He's often frustrated by what I won't say or what I ask him not to say. He's a wonderful man, but not always an easy one to deal with.

(If he wasn't such a gentleman, he'd admit that I'm a good woman, but also not easy to deal with. I'm quiet and moody and the life of the party, an introverted extrovert. The lady who never says anything until she shoves in and takes over the discussion. I stop him in mid-sentence to complain that he won't let me finish a sentence. I talk to him about being more politically correct, but every few years get so angry at him that I say things to him that would make a drunken sailor blush. I also don't tell him often enough how much I love him.)

Somehow, we're good together. We're good for each other. I'm a better person because we are us. I'm more alive because he came into my life. I'm also quite spoiled.

Happy Father's Day, my love.