Category: I Love My Wife

I still get derisively reminded about this pathetic incident, and rightfully so. It also, unfortunately, serves as a really good metaphor for my literal-mindedness.

Several years ago, on an otherwise glorious Super Bowl Sunday, my wife and I were setting up the house in anticipation of guests arriving for our annual Super Bowl party. Among other simple requests, my wife asked me to put a bag of chips in a bowl. As a dutiful husband, I did.

What I actually did, I should clarify, is place an unopened bag of chips upright in the designated bowl. Using a strict interpretation of the request, I did what I was told.

A few moments later, my wife passed by and saw the result of my effort. I think her heart dropped and her soul died a little. 

With heavy resignation, she says, “I can’t believe I have to tell you to open the bag and pour the chips into the bowl.” I looked at the still life, realized my mistake, and gave a pitiful self-defense (with attitude): “But you told me to put the chips in the bowl.” What a winner.

Be thankful, kind reader, that you don’t rely on me for help. On one hand, I do what I’m told. On the other, I do EXACTLY what I’m told. For any given task, my “help” can actually be helpful and appreciated or it can be bewildering and exasperating. As you may have presumed, this crapshoot gets old very quickly.

“Did you wear those clothes two days in a row?” I don’t particularly appreciate the accusatory tone in my wife’s voice.

“Um, excuse me? Two? That’s nothing. More like five days in a row. C’mon, give me the credit I deserve.”

Some of the true perks of working from home: relaxed standards for personal appearance, personal hygiene, and self-care. And the comforting justification you give yourself about conserving water.

“In addition, observant but critical wife, I would argue that you’re looking at it all wrong. I prefer to look at it as a fashion challenge: Who Wore It Better? Me today, me yesterday, or me tomorrow. Or maybe even me next week. You’ll have to wait and see who gets crowned the winner.”

Actually, there are no winners in this, least of all, my fresh-clothes-every-day wife.

One of my communication superpowers is the inability to follow pronouns, even in a simple conversation or story. For example, a typical exchange with my wife might unfold as follows:

“I was talking to my co-worker Raymond about books assigned in high school, and we were both assigned Shelley’s Frankenstein. And we were talking about Frankenstein and the monster, and he was saying…”

“Wait, who is ‘he’? Frankenstein?”

“No.”

“The monster?”

“No.”

“Shelley?”

“Shelley is a woman, you idiot! She is the author. She is not a he.”

“Ok, so who is ‘he’?”

“Raymond! Who else would it be? Do you not understand context at all?”

“Ok, I’m sorry. But…but…you chose to marry me. So some of this is on you.”

“You’re right. I should have married the monster. At least he would have understood me.”

“Wait, who is ‘he’?”