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On Wife-ing

A friend never defends a husband who gets his wife an electric skillet for her birthday.
- Erma Bombeck
 I have been married for nearly ten years now--we've been together for nearly eleven years--and you know what? He still buys me size 20 pants.

I used to think it was ridiculous for women to cry over such things... that was before I got married.

I used to say it was the wife's fault for marrying someone who can't tell sizes... before I got married.

Now I know.

"Honey." He'll say in that happy, boyishly excited tone. "I got you something."

Two things run through my head at this point--1) uh-oh 2) maybe he got something good this time. Inevitably I get my hopes up.

The worst present I've ever received was actually not clothing.

"You are going to love this!"

He got me so excited. I was practically bouncing when Christmas morning came.

It was two boxes. I opened the big one first (because big presents are rarely as good as small ones).

It was a remote controlled car.

"It's great isn't it?" My husband of three years asked me. I stared at him as he finished unwrapping it.

Then he handed me the next one. "Hurry, open it."

I hesitated, I had honestly thought this was a new camera, but I was beginning to rethink that assumption (you know what happens when people assume, don't you?). It was a battery for the car.

Yep. That's what happens when you're married. It's not really a matter of marrying the right man. It's more a matter of marrying a MAN.

They just don't think the way women do. I could almost equate it to taking a child shopping for a friends birthday, they always buy what they want.

One time he did, honestly try... and that's the time I cried. I had been out with friends watching a monumentally sappy love story and when I got home I was filled with an overabundance of love for him.

"I love you!" I exclaimed passionately.

"I love you too." He said equally as fervent. "And I bought you something."

What a man, I thought to myself. Without hesitation I ripped the bag open. It was a pair of Arizona State capris (Sparky sitting neatly on the side of my behind). I lifted them excitedly into the air and unfolded them.

And unfolded.

And unfolded.

And unfolded.

"Honey!" I cried out, "what size do you think I am?"

His face went from giddy to guarded in .02 seconds.

Poor man, he didn't understand why I burst into tears. He didn't understand why I would barely talk to him for the rest of the night. It wasn't his fault that I'm a woman and full of inexplicable, uncontrollable emotions.

As the years have gone past I've learned to deal with these 'presents' I just smile, pat his arm and take them down to my sewing machine.... hoping that at some point in our lives I don't actually fit into the clothes he buys me.

And to me, that's what wife-ing is all about. Learning to deal with the idiosyncrasies that make men what they are.... all logic.

My friends tell me I should just buy him things I want for his birthday. I can't do that, because in all honesty I know that he's trying his hardest and I sure do love the effort.

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Mutterings of a Middle-Aged Dreamer

Use your words, my dear sweet soul, they are inside of you... So find them. Write, you silly girl, write so hard the world will never forget you.
But does it matter if the world remembers you? 
Age begins to press its hands upon your chest and the need to be remembered seems to increase with the pressure. 
Stop.
That's not a line of thought you're interested in pursuing. 
Live in the now.
Does it matter if the world remembers you if your neighbor is going hungry? 
Perhaps age is merely pushing you out the door. 
Go. Live in the now.