We huddled together and swapped stories about our husbands. The first speaker leaned back in his chair, narrowed his eyes and spoke intently. We know that we are in the midst of an oft-told, well-worn saga of battle that rages in every home where men and women coexist.
We listened and nodded as she began to comment. Like converts in a Baptist revival, we sympathized with every expounded transgression, grumbling under our breath and clucking our tongues.
“You tell me.” “Isn’t that the truth?” “Yes, I know what you mean.”
The words flow smoothly from the mouth to the ears. We all have the same stories to tell. Different people – same basic legend.
“Why do we always have to be the ‘sensitive ones’?” My wife on the left unburdened herself. “You’d think he’d know about sending flowers on our anniversary. “I even dropped a hint. “
“Oh, I know,” exclaimed another. “Mine said, ‘Gee, I didn’t realize you wanted flowers on our anniversary. I thought you were just talking about flowers in general.”
Another wife joined the conversation. “Maybe I should stop making dinner when he comes home one night: ‘Oh, sorry, are you hungry? I didn’t know you wanted food. If you just tell me these things, I’ll get it for you.’ Good. You can’t expect me to read your mind.”
“If I just asked him to send flowers and gave him the florist’s phone number, he would do it. But if I had to, I might as well buy them myself!”
The laughter of agreement subsided for a moment. The next story is about to begin.
A new member of the group cleared his throat. This is her first time sharing. The honeymoon at her home was definitely over; the stars in her eyes had split into sharp darts that shone brightly as she looked around the room.
She is looking for answers. We didn’t have the heart to tell her no.
“Well, he’s been a little sloppy lately.” She got straight to the point. Not beating around the bush. We like that. She has agreed.
“Who picked up his dirty underwear before I got here? Did he just kick them into the corner and buy new ones? The bathroom is no longer a pretty place; let me tell you. “He is an environmental hazard . “
It’s been a long time since Grandma Hazel shared. We noticed a growing noise coming from the back of her throat. She’s going to explode.
“I wanted to grab that remote control out of his hands and smash it to pieces,” Grandma hissed. “Click. Click. Click. I was going blind trying to focus on what was going on and then he turned it off. Why couldn’t he leave the TV on one channel long enough to see what was playing What?”
She giggled and sat up higher. “One day I took the batteries out of the remote. Just for fun, you know. After shaking it and tapping it a few times, he saw what I was doing and got the message.”
We all acknowledged it knowingly. Sometimes drastic measures are needed to control these annoying habits.
“How about when they try to burp the alphabet?”
“Or when they start explaining how to predict the weather better than a TV meteorologist?
“It’s so exciting when they get romantic and let you know by cooing: ‘I just took a shower—should I brush my teeth or are you tired?’”
No one spoke for a while. We each look back on our boring, monotonous lives with this man whose love makes every exasperating moment worth it.
“Men. How are we to bear them?” I asked.
There were longing smiles filling the room and we knew we wouldn’t have it any other way.