“Hey, when will you be home?” I was pregnant with The Boy, sitting on the couch, enjoying a quiet night at home. The Man was out playing cards. He was just down the street, so there wasn’t a real reason to worry, but it had gotten to be a little later than he’d originally planned.
He told me that he’d be home shortly.
Finally at about 3:30 am, I called him again, because I was going to bed, and I knew he’d be walking home. I wanted to be sure he was ok. He promised me that this time, he really was on his way. I was exhausted and headed to bed.
You see, I didn’t want to call him. Many years ago, I swore I’d never be that girl. You know the one. She demands that her husband be home at a certain time after weekends away. She requires that he spend quality time with her, forcing him to give up time with his friends. If he plays golf, he wears a timer to keep track of precisely the number of minutes he was away from home, so she can be paid back with equal time away. She expects lavish gifts whenever she does anything she deems extra-special. Roses for Valetine’s Day won’t suffice. She needs diamonds. Or else.
The question I’d most like to ask is this: How fun is it to be married to that girl? I mean really. Who in that household is having any fun? She has to be miserable, because there’s no way she’s ever happy. He has to be miserable, because there’s no way she’s ever happy.
I just don’t understand the whole demanding wife thing. Why on God’s green earth would you want to be the type of wife whose husband dreads coming home if he’s fifteen minutes late? I want The Man to want to come home. Not only do I enjoy his company, but these pesky children aren’t gonna raise themselves.
I’m certainly not always perfect, and there are times when The Man leaves a phone conversation thinking, “What is wrong with her? What did I do?” Hey, we all have bad moods. That’s temporary.
But what about those girls? I once heard of a girl who left pictures of engagement rings around the house so her boyfriend would know exactly what she wanted. If you’re that worried about the decisions that he might make, why in the hell are you with him in the first place?
Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes The Man needs a little more help with things that come naturally to me. For years, if I was away at mealtime, he’d call me and ask what he should serve the kids for dinner. Um, well, open the fridge and look. Pick something. It’s what I do every single day. Just because he does stuff like that doesn’t mean he should spend his entire life on restriction. We’re a team. A damn good team.
The Man loves backpacking and just got back from his biannual trip with the guys. I couldn’t wait for him to get home, but it wasn’t because I wanted to put him to work. I looked forward to seeing him and hearing about his trip. I don’t plan on placing (too many) demands on him. Besides, I don’t want him to start bossing me around.
That late night all those years ago ended with an argument after The Man came home and fell asleep on the couch with tv blaring and all of the lights on. I went out and nicely asked if he’d like to come to bed. Woken out of a hazy, bourbon induced stupor, he didn’t react too kindly. I think my pregnant anger was warranted.
So sure, we fight. We ask that the other one help a little more around the house. I annoy the crap out of him on a daily basis. We also parent together, travel together, drink wine together, and even like hanging out together. We’re celebrating ten years of marriage this week. If you ask me, that’s pretty damn wonderful. Cheers to The Man on this anniversary, and here’s to and many, many more. I promise I’ll never be that girl. I’ll always be your girl.
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Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: augusta, drunk people, funny, marriage, metro spirit Image may be NSFW.
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