Monday, April 15, 2013
Marriage 501, Lecture 675: Baby it's cold out there and that's not a Democrat thing or a Republican thing
You guys know I love SH madly, right? He's a super nice hottie who never bores me. He might annoy the heck out of me, but he never bores me.
Except about politics. I don't want to talk about politics. Not with him, not with anyone.
I miss the days when in polite society, one didn't talk about politics. Not that I guess I remember those days - but I also don't remember politics being the topic of discussion all the time when I was in college or after college or pretty much any time except after I met SH and I made the mistake of chalking that up to a mild aberration. Little did I know that SH was politics obsessed.
So when he is out of town, I miss him. But I am also very happy for the chance to go to bed before 10:30 -
Let me explain what "going to bed" means in our house.
It does not mean, as one might think, that I put on my pjs, brush my teeth, get into bed, and turn out the light.
No. There must be an announcement. And then SH comes downstairs to tell me that I should wait for him so he can come to bed with me because if he doesn't come to bed with me, he'll stay up too late, to which I say, "You can make your own bed and lie in it. I am not in charge of your bedtime."
Then he heaves a deep martyred sigh and says, Fine. Then he'll change his clothes now. And I don't understand why he can't just stay in the clothes he is wearing and has been wearing almost all day, but he says he wants to get out of his nice clothes and put on sweats instead, which makes me say, Well why didn't you change as soon as you got home?
To which he does not have a good answer.
So you think the changing of the clothes would simply be the following:
1. Remove the current clothes.
2. Put them away.
3. Put on the other clothes.
How long do you think Step 2 takes?
Less than a minute? More than a minute? More than three minutes?
We aren't talking about chain mail and armor here. We are talking about jeans, a t-shirt, a button down, a sweater, socks, and shoes.
It takes him over three minutes.
Because every item has to be folded. Perfectly.
And of course he can't just fold it on the bedspread. Nope. The bedspread has cat hair on it. (Yes, we try. We really do. But our non-shedding half Siamese cats apparently got the shedding gene anyhow.)
So he has to flip the bedspread back, then smooth the sheets, then shoo Laverne away, as she has an amazing instinct for being where she does not need to be, then lay his t-shirt down, then fold it. Button-down is put on a hanger, but the seams are tugged straight, the cuffs are smoothed. Jeans are folded. Socks are folded or they go in the laundry. No, he can't keep wearing those socks. Those are the Good Socks. He has to change into the House Socks, which are very similar to the Fluffy Socks except they are not fluffy. But they serve the same purpose: they are for comfort only, not style.
And he has to chatter and sip at his wine this whole time and ask me if I want to hear about the governor of Wisconsin (I don't) or the proposed referendum on re-sizing the Milwaukee County board (I don't). I don't want to talk about anything political with him.
It takes him at least three or four minutes to change clothes and then there is more conversation and then he has to take his Eye of Newt and palmetto sawgrass and niacin and his other potions that will stave off death.
And then I finally get to turn out the light because he finally goes away.
The most important thing to look for in a spouse - other than orphanhood - is that you like to go to bed at the same time. I promise this is more important than religion or politics.
So back why I like it when he's out of town.
1. I get to go to bed when I want
2. There are no conversations
3. I can complain about the weather and not have it be turned into a launching pad for a discussion about global warming.