Tags
compromise, Confessional, elliptical, insane moments, kisa, marriage, treadmill, wife
I am hypersensitive to certain situations. I never, ever want to be accused of being a nagging housewife. I never, ever want to referred to as a ball and chain. I never, ever want Kisa’s friends to ask, “do you think your wife will let you —?” I never, ever want to be that woman. Controlling. Conniving. I’m borderline paranoid about being perceived as such. I can’t be thought of that way and yet, last night I found myself defending my character of such things.
It started innocently enough. Kisa and I were having that mundane AndHowWasYourDay discussion over dinner when he stated matter-of-factually, “Ed can’t believe I’m giving up my Man Town for this workout room.” There. It was out. The very thing I had been dreading. I’m making my husband give something up to make me happy. Never mind the hours we spent talking, talking, talking about it. Never mind that we painstakingly went over every pro and con to moving the gym equipment to the room otherwise known as “Dude.” Never mind the fact we measured and the numbers supported the move. Never mind that he had agreed; agreed that everything I wanted made sense. Now all I could hear were the words “I’m giving up” and in an instant I became that woman. My blood literally ran cold. I’m sure my eyes bugged out. It’s an irrational fear and Kisa knew it for he quickly said, “this isn’t a chicken situation.” But, all I could think was, “Yes! it is!” How could it not be?
My sister is divorced because she and her husband drifted into two different lifestyles without consulting the other. It was if they bought a farm together only he thought it was a nut farm and she envisioned chickens. They were on such different paths it was as if they woke up one day and couldn’t remember the other’s name or recognize their face. No amount of But-I-Thought-That’s-What-You-Wanted could put their marriage back together.
I totally see this gym situation as a chicken one. With an Insert Paranoia Here twist.
please note that kisa said “ed can’t believe I’m giving up my man town for this workout room.” NOT “ed can’t believe my wife is making me give up my man town for this workout room.” big difference. i see no chickens.
Ah, but in my head I imagined the subsequent conversation: Kisa saying “I know dude! It sucks!” I have chickens with their heads cut off dancing the wedding…errr chicken dance!
Does anyone really have to give up anything? Cant the rooms just swap spaces? Old gym room is now new dude room … no one gives up anything, things just shift slightly?
I wish it could be that simple. Never mind the physical space and all the…well, you know…stuff. Imagine the “where does Yoda live?” discussion and magnify it by 24 (or 25. I’ve lost count). It’s a psychological thing. Compounded by my even bigger psychological thing…
I get the psychological thing. I always hate the idea of becoming *that* women – you know … the stereotypical one who nags her husband, who disapproves of the things he enjoys (video games, action figures, etc) and who is the “gatekeeper/obstacle” for his social calendar. But it cuts both ways – he never wants to be *that* man – the one who makes fund of my interests (yoga, rabbits, jewelery making), criticizes how I look, or makes me feel stupid when I am not. So far … at my house, we have not become *those* people yet. And I dare say … you’ve been equally successful at this in your house
You really don’t need to fret over this one, but I know what you mean and I totally get it.
I prefer to think of us as smart, feisty, funny women who have chosen really, really well!
I agree (although we did have to kiss our share of frogs along the way, but who doesn’t?)
Ahhhh! The frogs! I’m having flashbacks to a certain trip to Boston….ha!
I swear I’m going to hell.