My husband and I have an interesting relationship. While I am on a one woman mission to "help" him fix all of his faults, he is a firm believer in enabling all my bad habits. He basically pours me a glass of wine while I criticize his drinking.
Last night Brock and I were snuggled together on the couch watching a movie. There was a scene where the frustrated husband was yelling at his wife. She stood there silently crying as he went on a rampage.
I turned to Brock and said, "There is no way that I would stand there silently and take you yelling at me like that."
Brock said, "I know. My head would be rammed up the fireplace flu."
I looked at the fireplace, then back at the shape and size of his head, and said, "Yep."
Then I said, "Honestly, throwing hissy fits really isn't your style. "
He said, " I'm way too tired to find the energy to yell and scream like that."
Then he continued, "Besides, it's such a turn off to see people lose their cool like that."
I cocked my head to the side and asked, "Then why the hell did you marry me?"
Brock said, "That's different. You're a woman. I expect women to do things like that. Most men are idiots and you all have to put up with a lot of crap."
I nodded solemnly, "It's true. And if we're not yelling at you, then we're probably bottling up rage and silently planning on killing you in your sleep."
He said,"Exactly. I'd rather you just get it out of your system so we can move on."
I said, " Good call."
After the movie , we headed to the bedroom for my favorite activity of the day: sleep. I walked around the corner and came within two inches of smacking my head into the heavy armoire door that stood open in my path. The same door that my wonderful husband he has taken to leaving open. EVERY SINGLE TIME that he uses it.
In my typical style of "constructive ridicule"*, I said, "Are you serious? Are you freaking moron? Get over here and close damn door! If you don't stop this shit I'm going to have to start beating you more often!"
*Thank you, Rachel, for sharing that term with me. It made my day.
Brock giggled like a school girl, climbed over the bed and quickly slammed the door. As he scrambled back to his side of the bed, he said, "You can't even catch me!"
In my mind, at that moment in time, nothing would have been more satisfying than the firm smack of my hand against his greying noggin. I allowed myself a moment to fantasize about the way my palm would sound against his skull. Instead, I chose to playfully swiped at his giant man head and pulled up short just at the end, missing him by half an inch, so as not to seem like a cruel hearted ice queen.
Instead taking my lack of contact at face value, which was mercy on my end, he chose to mock my bad aim. That is when I sprinted over the bed, and using my catlike refelxes, firmly whacked him on the head.
Then I laughed like Dr. Evil and felt like my day was complete.
We kissed, said our "I love yous" and drifted into dreamland. Brock and I both slept soundly last night, firmly implanted in our roles of "confrontational, irritated asshole" and "mocking, irritating enabler". Why fix something that isn't really broken?
Peace, Love and Mawiage,