Politics and Religion are fine
If you want to start a fight between me and manfriend, simply pull out an IKEA catalog, or ask me how I plan to decorate our house in the future. Bring up the subject of replacing our couch, and pause to observe the pained expression that will slowly spread across his poor face.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, upsets him like the threat of stuff. Yes, stuff. I realize it sounds terribly vague, but he walks through our home at times, as if expecting all of the things we have accumulated over the years to spontaneously rise up in a furious whirlwind and seize him, ripping him out of time and space and casting him into some unknowable and awful place.
I also dislike clutter, and I spend hours carefully planning how to better go about organizing and arranging our home. The concept of buying something to hold something else strikes him as morally offensive, and nothing exasperates him faster than a discussion concerning purchasing something. Never mind if by purchasing that thing we will ultimately use fewer dishes, or spend less time washing dishes, or make more room in our apartment or be able to put ALL of our clothes away at once, instead of having to perform a remarkable and challenging clothing balancing act (things in the laundry basket, things in the closet, things in the tiny little chest of drawers I bought years and years ago as something of a joke).
Never mind all that, because that makes far too much sense. The reason I’m writing this entry is not to go on about how exasperating all of this is, but rather because it presents a challenge. I like challenges. I’m the sort of person who relishes being right and proving my rightness. It is a personality flaw, I recognize that, but he somehow manages to take all the wind out of my sails.
For instance, I recently made some purchases he informed me he disliked and was quite upset about. Specifically, I bought a rice cooker/steamer and a salad spinner. He was at a complete loss as to what these things would do or be useful for, despite the somewhat obviousness of their names.
I used the rice cooker to make instant rice one night, as a trial run. Dump a box of rice in, add water, a tablespoon of olive oil, and ding! Rice is done. There was no skill, no art involved. The steamer was not used. It was plain old, out of a box rice. And do you know what this man said to me as he ate it? Do you know what he did after we finished?
He reverently caressed the rice maker, eyes wide in awe and appreciation, as if I’d never made stupid bloody rice out of a box before, he touched that rice maker tenderly, as if it were an impressive and somewhat terrifying lover. And he said, he said, “this was a really excellent purchase, you were right.”
I WAS RIGHT!? For some stupid instant rice! That’s all it took! I suppose I should buy him a bedside table and then put something on it. I expect I’ll set a lamp down, and he’ll act as though I were God, saying, “let there be light!”
And do you want to know what he said about the salad spinner? Did it require any salad at all to convince him? No. No, he spun it. He was familiar with salad spinners and what they do, and he decided it was useless and stupid. Then we got it, and he spun it. He spun the salad spinner, sans salad, and you know what he said?
He said, “Wow, that’s really cool! Look, it spins!”
And he was fine with it! He was absolutely pleased with the stupid salad spinner! It could languish unused in cabinets and never see a leaf in its entire life, and its got his seal of approval because it spins. It spins! Hallelujah!
I don’t post blog entries about people, especially people I sleep next to at night, vulnerable, soft and unsuspecting, without their explicit permission. Manfriend read this article and informed me that several points were incredibly embellished:
“I wasn’t upset about these purchases.”
“You said they were stupid and we didn’t need them.”
“I did not stroke the ricemaker. That didn’t happen.”
“Yeah, okay, that part isn’t obviously exaggerated.”
“I wasn’t familiar with what a salad spinner does!”
“It spins salad! You take some salad, and you spin it around.”
“Well, whatever, I didn’t know it was so cool.”
“No, in fact you said it sounded dumb and we shouldn’t get one.”
“Look, whatever, post your stupid article.”
“Should I post a disclaimer?”
“Tell them, tell them I read it and I gave this blog entry a 6.8.”
5 Comments »
Face it: manfriend is really from Missouri–you have to show him. He’s a closet Midwesterner.
Manfriend demands an explanation regarding what that means.
Missourians have a saying: “I’m from Missouri. You’ve got to show me.” It’s called the “Show me” state. There are many stories about the origin of this motto. I like this one: http://www.trivia-library.com/b/origins-of-sayings-im-from-missouri-youve-got-to-show-me.htm
I also think in another life, I was a Missourian.
just testing alexa. You’re a natural writer who evokes interest and wonderful color in your writing (if you can get that drift)Thanks for having me here.I know, I am pedestrian…:)
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I can understand that. I tend to be more accepting of things after I see them in use. For instance, I don’t want another power saw…it’s just going to clutter up the garage. However, I really want that power saw that I watched a guy use to cut a car in half, because I might need to do that some day, right?
Same with furniture: We currently have a too-small dresser and are using cheap(er) bookcases as nightstands. Buying real furniture would just weigh us down and keep us from moving on a whim. When, inevitably, we purchase a bigger dresser and actual nightstands, I won’t care for them until I see how much room I have for clothes and I don’t have to dig under books to find my DS.