Wednesday, February 10, 2016

                                                 I NEVER LEARNED TO SHARE

     After 22 years of sharing a bed with Mr. Wonderful, you would think I would have a method to get at least 6 hours of sleep. Nope, not me. Still struggling to get the 4.5. If I ever slept through the night without shushing, kicking, pushing or slapping him, it would be an effen miracle. Somewhere in my years of staff development, there was a message to educators that went something like this:  If you keep doing the same thing repeatedly, and it isn’t working, do it in a different way. Hello. If you aren’t sleeping well for 22 years, maybe you should consider an alternative. The ones I have considered are either abusive or illegal, so I keep tossing and turning in percale.

     When we travel, we now must share a bathroom. Now this is pure hell. No husband and wife should ever share a bathroom. If this doesn’t breed contempt, nothing will. Which side of the tiny counter should his DOPP Kit reside? Should he be allowed to turn her off her curling iron without permission? Should her hair follicles have to be wiped out of the sink before he shaves so they don’t appear as part of his mustache? Should she be upset if he accidentally uses her Retinae thinking it was shaving cream? Oh, my. Who knew there would be all this fodder for frenetic fits?

     Then there’s the funny questions that arise at the hotel:

He:  Should I go up and do the laundry?
She: I think you owe it to yourself.

He: Do you want to go to the Mall this afternoon?
She: No, I would prefer to go to the baseball museum. wtf.

He:  Do you have any money left?
She:  No.

     Then there’s the driving. Mr. Wonderful’s sports car is more precious than his first-born, so sharing the driving is not usually an option unless he is asleep at the wheel. This is the only time, I offer, as I know that if I swerve .03%, he’ll rag at me. If it starts to rain, we have to pull under a viaduct so “Marcel” won’t get wet. Funny, when it’s raining, he doesn’t worry about me getting wet. 

     Ah, sharing. Do you share? If so, who taught you that? Pat and Chet got a D in sharing. I guess it must be their fault.