Roll your eyes if you must, but my beloved spouse and I are one of those couples who rarely argue.
Although we’ve been together for many years, we’ve never thrown a punch, a skillet, or called each other a dirty so-and-so.
Quite frankly, I must give the credit to Pat, for I love nothing more than a good argument, but even when I’m stomping mad he flat-out refuses to give me the “what for.”
Instead of coming back with a “Yeah!” to my “Oh yeah?!” he calmly says, “You’re right, Lori, you’re always right.”
That just cheeses me off. I clench my fists, stomp about, and shoot fire out of my ears as I firmly retort, “Yeah, well maybe I’m not right. Maybe you’re right. Did you ever think of that?”
The audacity of that man telling me that I’m always right.
Still, while I’m sure there are men out there who wonder what goes on in a woman’s mind, I’m certain that my Pat is not one of them because I’m always willing to tell him. I don’t keep things bottled up inside, rarely hold my tongue, and am always willing to voice my opinion. Even though our arguments are few and far between, the other day Pat and I had a doozy of a squabble.
Now, I’ve assisted Pat on many a project in our years of marital bliss, and if there’s one thing that I have learned, it is this: Respect the man’s string line. One might be well-advised to not only respect the string, but to be ever-mindful of it, and at times, pay it homage. Otherwise your project might lean to the left.
The string line doesn’t just appear on a job site, as some might suspect. No sir, turns out some forethought goes into getting that string strung.
As fate would have it, there was a string line involved in this recent project. I knew this in advance because as I approached, my beloved spouse said, “Watch the string,” to which I retorted, in my best childish voice, “You watch the string.”
On this day Pat was wearing headphones and I must admit that sort of ticked me off. The wind was brisk, my gloves were thin, and dang it, my feet ached. If it weren’t for those headphones, I would have informed Pat of all of this, because I’m sure he wanted to know.
Instead of updating him on my ailments, I belted out Janis Joplin a cappella and shoveled like it was my job. I’m quite a woman, I’ll give you that.
I had just sung out my third repetition of “Come on!” and was about to belt out “Take a … take another little piece of my heart now, baby,” when my Pat hollered out in an uncharacteristic manner, “Dadgummit Lori!”
Not liking to be snapped at, I looked at him with fire and retorted, “What!”
“You broke the dadgummed string!”
There’s a lot that goes on in a person’s mind after she breaks the string. Most times the air stops moving, the winds cease to exist, and if there’s a butterfly nearby, you can dang sure betcha that her wings stop mid-flutter.
As I said, there are men who wonder what women think, and I feel that it’s worth repeating that my Pat isn’t one of them — because if I have a thought, I will surely let him know.
However, I had broken the string, so for once I did my best to hold my tongue. But he had called me on my mistake and worse yet, he waited for a response. When there was none, he said, “What, no comment?”
Lord love him. To say that he got a comment would be an understatement. He got remarks, dialogue, and I must confess, somewhat of a rant, if not a manifesto. I gave him this, I gave him that, and just for good measure, I mentioned the kitchen sink. When I was done I looked at him and inquired, “Is that enough of a comment for ya?”
To which he smiled as he replied, “Yep, that’s just pretty good.”
It’s a darn good thing that we don’t argue.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].
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