Anyone who’s in a live-in relationship surely has them — those slices of life that reveal what day-to-day cohabitation is really like. With apologies to Ingmar Bergman for co-opting the title of his cinematic masterpiece, here are some scenes from my marriage that take a somewhat — shall we say — lighter tone:
It’s 3 a.m. Hubs has returned to bed from his nightly trip to the bathroom. I’m awakened by his jostling and so decide to get up and pee as well. Upon my return to the marriage bed, I take his hand. He speaks:
Hubs: Ith Teth neckth to you?
Hubs: I thed, ith Teth neckth to you?
I suddenly realize that his unintelligible mumble is because he’s wearing his dental guard and I’m wearing earplugs. We laugh so hard I’m glad I just emptied my bladder. (BTW, he was asking me if our cat Tess was next to me.)
Hubs and I are in the kitchen, having just finished lunch, and are putting our dishes in the dishwasher. I look at him and notice a blob of mayonnaise at the corner of his mouth.
Me: There’s a blob of mayonnaise just outside the right corner of your mouth; can’t you feel it?
Hubs: Yeah, I knew it was there.
Me: You did not.
Hubs: No, I didn’t. Isn’t it weird that as we get older, you don’t feel stuff on your face?
Me: Let’s promise to always tell each other if there’s food on our faces, especially if we’re out in public, okay?
It’s a warm summer day in Maine. All the windows in the house are open to catch whatever breeze may waft by. The air is so still I can even hear our neighbors working in their garden across the street. Hubs and I are walking from the kitchen to the living room, with one of our cats leading the way, when I blurt out loudly:
Me: Dammit, you just dropped a turd on the floor…and you’ve got poop stuck to your butt!
Hubs: (Looks at me, silent.)
Me: I hope the neighbors remember we have cats and don’t think I’m yelling at you.
Hubs and I have just finished breakfast and, in his endearing way, he starts thinking about dinner.
Hubs: So, what’s for dinner?
Me: I don’t know; I hadn’t really thought about it. What would you like?
Hubs: Oh, I don’t care. You’re cooking, so you decide.
Me: Okay, I’ll make that salmon and pasta dish.
Hubs: (Scrunches up face to show distaste.)
Me: Well, I guess that wasn’t the right answer. Did you have something in mind?
Hubs: What about chicken piccata?
Me: Why didn’t you just say that when I asked you what you wanted?
Hubs: I didn’t think of it then.
Since Hubs has retired and I continue to work, he’s taken on several household chores that used to be my domain — laundry and grocery-shopping chief among them. I come downstairs from my home office to find a load of laundry on the dining room table, all folded and ready to be put away.
Hubs: I did your laundry today.
Me: Oh, you didn’t do your laundry, too?
Hubs: You know what I mean.
Me: No, what did you mean?
Hubs: Well, you could say thank you.
Me: Like how you say thank you when I clean the bathrooms, wash the floors, scoop the litter box, wash the windows, vacuum, dust, wipe down the counters, periodically clean out closets and drawers, change the sheets and water the plants?
Hubs: Oh, never mind.
Me: Thank you.
The secret sauce for
has got to be laughter.
Roxanne Jones blogs at boomerhaiku.com, a mostly lighthearted, often irreverent look at life as a baby boomer, 17 syllables at a time. When she’s not tapping out haikus, she’s a freelance medical copywriter, enjoys chardonnay and contemplates plastic surgery to get rid of the wattle on her neck.