Right off the bat, you have to understand that I love my husband. He's a great guy. He has all his own hair and loves to both hide in the basement with me and watch movies AND go to junk stores. And he does all the math. But I don't think he respects my work.
I am totally respective of his work. When he comes home from a long day, I listen carefully when he tells me about his day. It's usually something like, " Bla bla widgets bla bla valves bla bla explosion bla bla halon system bla bla chlorine leak." And I am right there, listening with shining eyes and I try to show my support by saying things like, " That's great! So work was good? Why don't you go play your video game?" I care very deeply about whatever it is that he does.
So, the other night, we're enjoying some family time. The kids were blessedly ignoring us. Winston was playing Call of Duty and ignoring me. I was texting and surfing the internet and ignoring him. All the elements of a beautiful evening. Until he says...
"So who are you talking to?"
I said, "Lorie."
"And what are you girls up to?" he said.
"Well, we are working out the details of a new project. It's starting to come together."
"Huh. What is it?"
So I told him all about it.
"Well, there's this really gross guy that we know. He's got this amazing type of fat distribution that makes him look anorexic everywhere but his gut. Which looks like he's over due for sextuplets. He's got this mysterious wound on his upper lip and sometimes he actually wears a band-aid on it. I swear to God, I once saw him eat a bowl of chilli with it on. So gross. And he could bore you to death inside of a minute. Like, his level of boring is nearly a type of mind control. The moment you see him, your eyes kind of glaze over."
At this point, Winston paused his match and was looking at me. And apparently, listening to me. So I continued...
"Anyway, we got to talking about him and trying to figure out what the hell he does in the evenings and we decided we are going to start working on a diorama. You know, probably an over sized shoe box. No, wait! A boot box, you know, to sort of capture his awful in an artistic way. We think that he wears some sort of short, silky Asian robe around the house in the evenings and Lorie thinks it probably has a dragon embroidered on it. I think there is definitely a mail order bride, but we are arguing about whether she brings him drinks in wooden tiki cups or beer cozies shaped like coconuts. We can work that out later, so don't worry. But we agree about the backless leather man slippers, diamond pinky ring and gold chain. Maybe a gold plated back scratcher. We have to figure out how to get what looks like a steam room in one corner; that's going to be tricky. We're positive he says things like, "I gotta take a steam." But here's the thing. I think we are thinking too small. We know dozens of weirdly gross people. So, if we took, like, the next 6 months and really worked at it, we could make dioramas for all of them. And then, here's the great part: we do an exhibition! Who wouldn't pay $7.50 a ticket to see really well made dioramas of bizarre random people?! It can't fail!!!"
So there I am, looking at him and beaming, thinking about how awesome it's all going to be. He just stared at me, for so long that I thought I might have to make him put his hands over his head and say his name (stroke test), when he says,
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
I think maybe he wasn't really listening. Or he has no vision. Anyway, the conversation ended abruptly. I feel sad that even within a great marriage, there is always something that you cannot share with your partner. But now I have some great new ideas for another diorama.
~dana
