Now that I’ve written two posts in a row about perverts, now for something amusing.(Although my husband said, “You still managed to make that funny!”)
This is rather demented though.
It was one of my goals in life not to be one of those naggy wives who henpecks her husband to death about a bunch of trivial matters. Before I complain about anything, I ask myself, “Is this really worth mentioning? Does it matter?” I figure if I’m going to make a request, make it over something important. I also don’t want to be a control freak, but sometimes trivial matters start to get to me.
Before I tell this story, I need to mention the background. Back when we had regular TV with a working antenna (the digital convertor box never worked), we were flipping through channels when we came upon an awful scene where a woman is being held in a pit. It was Silence of the Lambs. We watched it long enough to figure out her captor’s plan, which was to do unspeakable things with her skin. I could not get over this weirdo’s voice. Whenever there’s a weird voice, I just can’t resist impersonating it. Trying not to acknowledge that she’s a person with feelings, he calls down to her, “It puts the lotion on the skin.” Something like that. One of the most bizarre scenes ever.
Fast forward five years or so. You know how every surface in your house can become a storage area for random stuff? Our table was covered in stuff. The dresser I beautified with a decorative basket and some candles? It was soon overflowing with stuff. The kitchen counter – stuff. Our entertainment center – stuff! Stuff, stuff, stuff!
I felt like I was entitled to at least one sacred space: The fireplace mantle. I wanted to have one spot to look at where I could think, “Isn’t that so pretty?” Picture frames. Candles. A beautiful painting above it.
Then my husband started a nightly ritual of putting on lotion while we watched TV after his shower, as recommended by dermatologists. Every morning the bottle of lotion was on our fireplace mantle, which was the surface closest to him. I would say nothing, opting to return it to the bathroom closet. “It doesn’t matter.” I told myself. “There are worse things.”
One day I had friends coming to visit. I did some crisis cleaning and as we were chatting, I think my eyes bugged out when I saw once again, the lotion was on the mantle! “They must be wondering what kind of weirdo stores their lotion on the fireplace mantle!” I thought irrationally. I couldn’t ignore it. I hastily grabbed it and put it back again.
Later that night, we were watching TV. He was applying lotion. How could I bring up the issue without making a big deal about it? He could say, “Oh yeah! Well you leave the kitchen cupboards open!” Actually, he does say this. He says I’m trying to kill him. Being short, they pose no risk to me, but he hits his head on them. It’s a fair complaint.
Anyway, I suddenly found myself doing the creepy voice. “It puts the lotion on the skin. And when it’s done, it doesn’t put it on the fireplace mantle.” He laughed his butt off. Yay! It wasn’t a big deal and the point was taken.
The next night, he told me in the same voice, “It puts the lotion on top of the piano.” “NO IT DOESN’T!” I yelled creepily.
Maybe we should teach a seminar on conflict resolution in marriage? :p “Step 3: Try suggesting things using the voice of a serial killer.”
Seriously though, I think 90% of marital arguments are probably stupid and based on something that was said or misunderstood while one or both parties was stressed or hungry.
I’m going to bed now. Maybe it will rub my back?