Someone place the 911 call now.
Winter is coming, and for me and Steven, it brings our worst domestic dispute.
OK, make it 311. It won’t come to blows, and calling 911 for non-emergencies really pisses them off. I know, because I once called the fire department when I was worried about tree branches that were growing too close to our living room window.
It was right before Hurricane Irene was supposed to hit. I was just calling to ask, “what would you suggest I do” because I thought the branches could shatter our window and rain glass down on an innocent passerby (though it was more about the shatter our window part). 311, the number for municipal issues like traffic questions and pothole reports, hadn’t been helpful.
On the other extreme, 911 was too eager to spring to action. The dispatcher ignored my pleas for advice and insisted on taking down my address. Next thing you know, the whole fire department was outside our window, dressed in heavy gear and looking up at a cherry blossom branch. They didn’t crack a smile when I laughed about how silly it all was.
So again:
I was kidding, don’t call 911.
But do prepare to see me and Steven bickering on the street. This is the season where we have one particular argument over and over. Actually, though we have what I’d consider an ideal marriage, there are 5 arguments we will have till the end of time assuming all goes as planned and we both live forever. Here they are, with the winter one last. Because I hate winter.
“Why are you hungry? We just had breakfast.”
If you want to anger a woman, tell her it’s not time to be hungry. This happens most when we’re traveling, and walking around all day together. I usually feel the first pangs when we’re in a museum. I have a low-ish threshold for museums, which I’m not proud of. There’s got to be a German word for “hyper-awareness of one’s growling stomach caused by shameful sensation of not knowing diddly-squat.”
Steven doesn’t understand growling stomach, or snappy-pants low blood sugar. In fact, he has no nerve connection between his stomach and his brain, or no feeling in his stomach whatsoever. Get this: he has never felt physical hunger. He only knows it’s time to eat if he sees a cheeseburger and it looks really good.
So, that’s why he says “Why?” When I say “I need to eat.” And then, I want to hit him.
“You can’t catch up on sleep.”
If I ask Steven to let me sleep in tomorrow because I haven’t had a good sleep in 3 nights, he’ll say, “Don’t bother. You can’t catch up on sleep.” He claims it’s true because he read a study. He knows better than that. The only scientific proof you need that a person can catch up on sleep is that I CAN CATCH UP ON SLEEP.
He remains unconvinced.
“Why’d you erase my Million Dollar Listings?”
Steven says he didn’t, but then how did the three that I was saving disappear from the DVR list, replaced by 5 episodes of Antiques Roadshow, a Masterpiece Theater special, and The Devil Wears Prada — his favorite movie in which Ann Hathaway, at her most buxom talented, has to run through the streets of New York with a tray of cappuccinos?
There’s plenty of extra memory in our DVR.
But my husband loves to throw stuff out, especially if he doesn’t like the looks of it. Old, dented plastic water bottles that I’m reusing despite cancer warnings about plastic, “girly” books he doesn’t approve of, the pickles in the fridge that I keep explaining don’t go bad because that’s the point of pickling. And, of course, Million Dollar Listing episodes.
(Aside to Bravo: Why aren’t these available On Demand? Why?)
He hasn’t had a fair trial, so I’ll say he allegedly cleared them thinking I’d watched them all. No. Just because I played it, and you sat through the whole thing, doesn’t mean I watched it. It served as background while I worked or Facebooked, and now I have to start it over and watch it for real, because I don’t want to miss a single fake negotiation over a single horribly-decorated Hollywood Hills mansion. (Good god, 1950s modernist structures done in faux-Tuscan finishes. What’s wrong with people!)
“It’s not hot.”
Steven doesn’t sweat. He glows, and even that, he does very mildly. I’ve mentioned before, after he works out, his gym shorts smell faintly of mint. It’s not like I go sniffing them, but he likes to pull them out of the clear plastic bag and smother me with them. He literally rubs it in my face how un-sweaty he is, because I am a Sweaty Betty.
When we walk to a restaurant together, I beg him to slow down. Not just because to keep up with him, I have to do a half-run, half-walk thing I call the Turkey Trot, but because if we walk above a certain pace for 10 minutes or more, even in the cold, I will sprout a glistening sweat-stache and dewy forehead as soon as we reach our destination and sit down at a table. And then, within 3 minutes or so, it’ll turn into torrents. Cascading schvitz sheets, down my face.
Steven, though we’ve been together for 13 years, will cock his head as though he’s puzzled and trying to work out how this sweat event could happen when it’s not even hot. And then, helpfully point out, “You’re glistening.”
“It’s not cold”
Have I mentioned that my husband is an evolutionarily advanced form of human? In addition to hunger, he doesn’t experience a thing called “cold.” If it’s above 4 degrees Farenheit, he walks down the street with his coat brazenly, arrogantly open. I’m Too Sexy For This Windchill.
So when I insist on zipping up before we leave the lobby, or refuse to sit by the door at a restaurant, or beg, “Please, please wait till we’re inside to text, it’s too cold to stand here,” he says, “It’s NOT cold.”
“Remember that time you called the fire department?”
He uses this when I overreact to something. It would make #6, but it isn’t really an argument. Because what can I say back?
Now you.
What do you argue about over and over with your sig other, or any kind of other in your life?
Have you ever met someone who doesn’t feel hunger?
TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS.
I love my husband. But he has a thing for watching the military channel at a volume that accurately mimics the decibel level of ack-ack fire or aerial dogfights in our open concept living/dining/kitchen combo. While sleeping. And then I go over to turn off the tv or at least mute it (DID I MENTION I WEAR HEARING AIDS SO IT’S REALLY REALLY LOUD IN HERE) and he wakes up. And continues watching. Until he falls asleep. And the other thing is: I don’t understand how after 10-15 years of watching the same newsreels of WWII (in colour, in black and white, with an English accented voiceover, with another English accented voiceover) HE HASN’T MEMORIZED THE ENTIRE WAR FROM START TO FINISH. It’s not like there’s any new developments (NEWSFLASH: ALLIES TURN HITLER BACK AT ZAGREB) and he could probably name, assemble, disassemble and discharge every piece of artillery just by sight if he wanted to.
And he won’t wear the wireless headphones either.
That is all.
Liz, did my mom hijack your computer? Because I could swear she typed that whole comment.
i always get the “what time will you be here” question from one of my friends. Two freaking days before we’re even supposed to meet!!!!! Hell, how the eff should I know that??!!!! It’s two days away!!! She did it so much that I finally blew up and said, “How the eff should I know that???!!! It’s two days away!!!!” Now I just let her know when I’m on my way and everyone is happy. Specifically me.
I have a friend who insists on making plans like 90 days in advance, and then confirms our plans like 30 times. And then, two weeks before the date, wants to know, yes, what time we’re meeting up. She usually cancels.
Feeling kind of worried that my husband and I have way more than 5 of these (we have at least 5 just around temperature), but we both have the exact same capacity for museums so that’s good, right?
#1 He will rub my hand absentmindedly in the same spot for hours, or at least I think he would, if I didn’t wrestle his thumb into a head lock after a few minutes. Then he says, “Just enjoy it, I’m giving you affection, what’s wrong with you?’ And then I say, “If you’re giving to me, why don’t you give me something I like instead of torturing me?”
Around we go, where it stops nobody knows.
We use rock, paper scissors when we’re really in a bind, problem with that is, I only lose when it really, really super duper matters to me that I win.
That is such a strange way to give affection! Like he’s trying to rub off your skin. I love that it happens over and over.
Laura, I think your husband is a robot. Don’t want to alarm you here, but mine is and the resemblance is shocking, so I thought I’d let you know. (I even said in my wedding vows that I was looking forward to our future little robots! You’d think I knew what I was doing, but robots have that effect on simple humans)
Our argument, over and over? He asks me on Saturday mornings what my plan is for the weekend, but it’s a hidden test. So if I don’t answer the thing that bothers him but that he didn’t talk about (something small, like picking up the dog poop in the backyard), he’ll get mad at me for being “irresponsible”. And then I’ll respond, you have more free time in a day than me, so why don’t YOU do it? (he’s a PhD student). Dead end. Every time. Sigh.
P.S. Love reading you!
Marie-Michele, the trick is to never, ever get pegged as someone who has free time. That’s a no-win trap.
Dog poop in the yard: you just made me so glad I don’t have a dog or a yard.
Ah, my husband’s oddities I MEAN QUIRKS. My favorite topic.
In which I am an inconsiderate klutz–> Apparently, I’m so clumsy that in public, the man reaches out to prevent me from bumping into other people, or backing up into them, or elbowing them in the nose when I put on my jacket. But guess what? I never knock people out! Or over! So he’s just like on guard that I might injure or otherwise offend someone at any moment? Thanks for the vote of confidence.
In which I have 40% more free time than him–> A typical conversation about errands goes like this:
Him: “Have you called about Zeek’s vet appointment?”
Me: “No.”
Him: [calls…on phone…covers mouthpiece momentarily] “How’s 3:00 on Tuesday for you?”
Me: [angry whisper] “I didn’t know I was taking him.”
Him: [raises eyebrows, wins argument]
In which he makes vocalizations.–> Have you ever watched that show where they hunt for the Sasquatch? You know when they make moaning noises and scratch their bellies to attract the Squatch? That’s so relaxing. He needs it. He needs to do it, you jerk. Why would you take that from him?
In which he just doesn’t care anymore.–>
9:00 am: Husband leaves for work in crisp button-up and a smoothie in hand.
9:00 pm: 12 hours of owning a restaurant later, husband enters the house and burps his way down the hall, talking out of the side of his mouth about beer cans and eating cottage cheese and conversing all at the same time.
It may sound like I don’t love him, but I do. Primarily because I had to think about this list, and he could wake from a drunken stupor and think of at least 11 things that I do that are worse than this.
Just realized something. Your post wasn’t really about listing our spouse’s flaws, was it? It was more about points of contention, which I deftly avoided.
I’m most intrigued by the owning a restaurant and eating cottage cheese part! That’s a combo.
Ha, its the I will eventually watch it DVR mess. My husband has trouble sleeping, gets up in the middle of the night, turns on a movie that has already started, records it and then falls asleep and does the same thing over and over. Sometimes I see a movie that looks good on the list, but it always says “partial”. So I am the phantom
deleter, though I never admit it.
Our DVR is full of the exact same thing, Barbara! Half-recorded Clueless, half-recorded Family Vacation, half-recorded Legally Blond…It’s like a 16-year-old girl with ADD broke in every night for a month.
Apparently rare but true – We don’t argue. His sister once asked him if we do and he was stunned by the question – and to find out we seem rather rare, by not practicing that vice.
Now if I was answering for my first husband, I would fill this page. But Bill and I either have the same preferences, are patient enough or just laid back enough not to have to disagree. I think it’s more like not sweating the small stuff. At our age, we’d rather spend the time spooning than spinning. We both like that part.
I guess you even agree on who gets to be outside spoon and who’s inside spoon. Impressive!
Jed and I had to implement (13 years ago as well) a “take turns” movie pick. Back when you had to go to a video store to get a movie we would get into arguments within the first 5 minutes.
Him with his indie experimental flicks and me with a mainstreamer.
We had to implement (and still do on Netflix) an every other time decision making agreement. He chooses. Then I choose. Every other time we watch a movie we take turns. Like we’re in the Kindergarten.
And if we’re really in the weeds? Rock. Paper. Scissors. Best out of 3.
xoxo
You know, theoretically I miss those video stores. But man, renting videos was a pain. We never agreed, either. And then one of us would promise to take the video back for weeks, and we’d end up just buying it because the overdue fees had mounted that high. Now, Steven picks the movie and I watch Housewives on my iPad.
So amusing. I love the eloquent and succinct way you sum up your 5 arguments. Makes the ones I have with mine funny – for the first time ever! Can’t get enough of your blog Laura, so glad you’re doing them daily now.
Oh – having difficulty digesting the fire department/tree/window story. Cringing at the very thought of it! 🙂
Thanks, Hilarie! If you’re cringing at the fire department/window/tree story, you’ve grasped it perfectly.
This is funny! Okay…….my husband and I can never decide on a restaurant, “what are you in the mood for” ….. it’s always nothing I am in the mood for. This past weekend he was in the mood for a good burger so we went to a local pub that has great burgers. He examines the menu as if he is memorizing it and I ask him which of the dozen burger offerings he is going to get and he tells me which one and when the wait staff comes to take the order, he’ll order a reuben or a chef salad or fish and chips….helloooooo? He does this ALL OF THE TIME. Drives me nuts. I end up arguing with him in front of the wait staff about the burger. Ugh! He also picks burger places based on how good their onion rings are. And….guess what? Rarely does he get the onion rings. Museums……I love going to museums but suffer from “museum-head” which leaves me with a somewhat sleepy hangover after leaving. I always feel as if it’s very late at night when I depart. A trip to a museum shop usually lifts me up :).
Ha! That’s a hilarious habit – insisting on going for burgers and not getting the burger. I feel like it’s something I would do, and I’m so annoyed by myself for it. Thanks for commenting, Hillary. Love seeing a Cook over here.
“Why don’t you use your turn signal?”
Because I am at the end of my driveway getting ready to turn onto a one way street with no other moving vehicle in our zip code….OK, maybe it’s not a one way street, but if there’s no one there to see my turn signal, does it even count? But my wife says that I should get in the habit of using it all of the time, regardless of the actual need, which I suppose makes some sense if you’re not a guy and especially if you’re not a guy who has a hundred good reasons for not doing things he’s too lazy to do. Like, it’s wasteful. Why should I wear out my turn signal when it’s not really needed – like when I am in a left turn only lane, where else am I going to go. Or what about those jerks who, if you give them notice about your impending lane changing move, will cut you off faster than you can say “missed exit”. And always using your turn signal is kind of like driving an automatic transmission – it’s just a thoughtless, low risk/low reward experience. Instead, it takes far more skill and thought to use your turn signal at all of the right times, and only the right times. I could go on, but you’ve probably heard it all before. Doubtless, my wife told you.
I can’t say squat about the turn signal, because I don’t drive. Though I still have the liberty to scold and punish when there’s texting and driving. Even in stopped traffic. NO.
Laura! We truly are sisters from another mister! I can’t believe this post!
First off…I call myself Sweaty Betty. It’s not pretty. My husband and I like to hike (well, I call it hiking, he amuses me for two hours, after he’s surfed for 3 hours, by going on these strolls.) we were in Home Depot last month after a hike and I was so beet red and “glistening” that the Home Depot guy asked me if I needed water. My husband immediately chimes in, “No, she’s ok.” Whatever. Coming from a guy who also doesn’t sweat and who doesn’t have body odor. I’ve been with him for 29 years (high school) and I literally have never smelled him with anything other than a sweet, musky odor. Wait. He’s a surfer. So a lot of the time he smells like rubber.
My husband is never hungry. He says eating “inconviences” him. He says if he could take a pill and not have to eat, he would. I, on the other hand, am thinking about what I’m going to have for lunch while I’m eating breakfast.
My husband regularly can go to bed at midnight and pop awake at 4:30 am to “dawn patrol” it and be out in the water before the sun comes up. I go to bed calculating how many hours I have to sleep, making sure it’s at least 7-8.
I went to the Louvre today. Here it goes: I hate museums. Actually, I don’t hate museums. I hate all the people that love to go to museums. I’m good for an hour, 90 minutes tops in any museum. I went for 2 1/2 today because my daughter LOVES museums. That wasas my max. I won’t appologize. I can only handle so many cherubs, paintings of dying Jesus and fucking satyrs. How fucking creepy are those and why the hell are they in so many paintings? (Side note: the Louvre was pleasantly not crowded and I loved how big it was so that people could spread out. Unlike some of the NYC museums.)
Anyway…wow. Loved your post. Too funny. Similarities are insane.
I love my husband, we just celebrated our 15th anniversary, I think he is sexy and smart but he really drives me crazy and I know I annoy the crap out of him because he tells me. We often say to one another, “you’re so weird!”.
One of the never ending arguments is, Him: We really need to do (or finish or buy or rsvp, etc.) ______ (fill in the blank) when he clearly means, “Kristen, will you do (or finish or buy or rsvp, etc.) ______(fill in the blank). I call him on it which he doesn’t appreciate and then he does it again next time. I can’t seem to let it go and he can’t seem to cop to it so we continue our endless dance.
I know that dance. My husband skirts the whole issue by RSVP-ing, “I’ll leave it up to my lady. She’s the boss.”
1. “It’s so hot in here.” He opens windows and turns on the fan and then sits down even though he just did 2 hours of work sweating in the basement or yard while I’m covered in blankets freezing my lady business off.
2. (Pauses TV) “You’re not watching. I’ll wait.” This because I’m…ok maybe I’m multitasking but I can’t stand to be told I can’t do 3 things at once.
3. “I’m not asleep.” This also when we are watching TV and I can HEAR HIM SNORING” yet I must be imagining it all and am asking to finish what we are watching another time so he doesn’t miss anything.
4. “Tell me what you want for dinner.” Hate this because he’s 100 times more fussy than me, hates 30% of what I suggest and had everything else I suggest for lunch one day this week. I wish he would just tell me rather than let me live one more day under the ruse that it’s ever my choice.
Oh! All of these, too! Especially the dinner one. I spend an hour, starving (of course), asking over and over: “what do you want for dinner?” And then the answer is always, “What do you feel like?” And the answer to that is vetoed. Restart cycle.
The same things listed plus this one, which my hubby has to ask: “what are you having for dinner?”
It’s a question that happens daily. And there are a couple of reasons it’s bound to produce an eye roll (which then turns into hubs asking me “to not make any faces for the rest of the night.”) apparently I make faces.
Here’s why it’s such an annoying Q:
1. Because I have no fucking clue what I’m eating for dinner but rest assured I will eat. Something. And so will our son. We somehow eat daily with no malnourishment.
2. Because he does not eat the same dinner as me. Ever. So he’s really not asking what I’ll be eating for dinner bc he wants to know what’s on the menu, but more pointing out that I’m an unplanning crazy person who flies by the seat of her pants. Which is partly true I just haven’t come to terms with it fully yet.
Good reading Ms Belgray.
Alison
Wait, wait – why don’t you eat the same dinner? Why doesn’t he plan it?
You’re cracking me up. My husband is the opposite. He sweats if he walks outside. I don’t really sweat except for when I’m working out.
The biggest argument at my house: “Why is that on the table?”
As I type this, my husband has left his open package of hand warmers and some poison ivy cream on the table. He participated in an 8 hour adventure race yesterday (cray cray, I know) and said he would move the hand warmers after the race was over. They’ve been there for 6 days. The poison ivy cream was put there on Saturday after he came home from the race, but he forgot to put it away when he was putting the other 20 random things away that were there.
Maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe there were only 7 things. But it’s the table. And it’s always full of his stuff.
I am a sucker for specifics like “poison ivy cream on the table.” So perfect.
That’s my role in the marriage – leaving items on surfaces. Gloves on the credenza, amazon package I have to return on the table, newspaper I still plan to read on the kitchen counter. Steven doesn’t tolerate it for more than 18 hours. It’s either deal with it, or never see it again.