About a day after our last visit with our marriage councilor, I realized that he was right – “something has got to change.” Emergency action was in order if our marriage was going to survive. For the last several years, my strategy had been to enforce an equilibrium of complaint and critique between us, matching with equal force the volume of assaults coming toward me from my wife. This created a balanced wall where two countering forces pushed against one another. This phenomenon I believed, albeit it with huge unforeseen negative consequences, helped me to avoid having to endure the full deluge of the my wife’s daily verbal assaults.
This was the one thing that could be changed that came readily to mind. I would drop all efforts to push back, or at least as much as I was capable at any one time. And so I did, that very night as she returned from work. And as the night progressed, two things became apparent. First, the level of negativity directed at me, or so it seemed, increased. And secondly, the level of tension between us, decreased. This was probably due, in part, to my new determination that if I was going to pull this off, that the way I was going to NOT react to her, was that I would make up my mind NOT to take anything said by her personally, or get emotionally involved in any aspect of her monologue.
The next day, is when the epiphany occurred. I had for years been blocking the universal flow of energy – the natural tide of complaining and criticizing that issues forth from female to male. It was the archetypal lot in man’s life to remain on the receiving end of this unidirectional cosmic radiation. It’s like entropy! Then I remembered, that’s exactly what Dr. Gray had been saying in “Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.” I needed to just let her vent – no matter how unfair, painful, insulting, or illogical her statements seemed, don’t react or offer advise of any kind. She: “Honey, The house is on fire!” Me: “Man! I know what you mean!” The trick here guys, is to resist the urge to put on the “Mr. Fix-it hat!”
Now, I was on to something! I’m not saying that it did not feel strange being in new and uncharted territory, but I was planning on going forward with all my senses intact. And, I’m not saying it is easy not taking the bait and resisting the urge to utter the pithy comeback, sarcastic reply, and not throw analogies in her face. And, I was nowhere near being in compliance one hundred percent of the time, but the shift in balance was noticeable. In part, I used my disillusionment with our relationship to motivate and affect a similar type of disillusioned aloofness, that I now use, in not responding, in a personally invested way, to her troubles and opinions.
The other strategy I knew I would need was to use the technique of transference. I knew it was not in my nature to completely shut down my instinct to want to analyze and criticize my world. However, instead of sharing the bitter-fruit of my insights with my wife, I decided that I would effuse my strongest impulses, and conceptualizations, though use of the written word. Thus, Check Your Brain at the Door was born. I would share my petty grievances with you, the reader, and give my wife a much needed break.
My wife’s gain, in sanity, you could say, is now your loss! And, of course, a couple need never to look any farther than the bathroom, to find primary tensions in any male/female cohabitational relationship. And so, that is where my inaugural installment in this series begins. I call it: “No matter how much you shake or dance, the last drop is in the pants!”
My wife, like all good homemakers, is quite the “clean freak.” I daily field reminders to clear off the table, straighten the living room, and take out the trash. That’s why it is particularly frustrating that she has a complete blind-spot concerning one disturbing aspect of her bathroom etiquette. Why is it that she can manage to flush and discard, any and all unsavory body function debris, except one? Just about every time I enter the bathroom, I find that there is a muff-puff, Commode Chrysanthemum floating on top of the water in the toilette! Oh yeah, that, and it’s usually accompanied by a tangled ball of hair brush gleanings. Why can’t all this, also be flushed? Or, why can’t the hair-ball just be dropped in to the waste paper basket? God help me though, if I asked HER these questions.
Now, to add insult to injury, or dare I say, use fairness and logic, she is always harping on me for what she sees as a unsanitary habit of mine. – Now, you must first understand that the bathroom, regardless of what the sign says on the door outside, is the birth-right realm of women. One can unlock the door and emerge from any powder-room and the resident female could literally hand you a verbatim timeline item of exactly what you did, and what you did not do, during your entire restroom visit. My sin, is that in an effort to shave two seconds off my bathroom breaks, I will flush the toilet, just as I waiting for the last drop of pee to fall away. I’ve got nothing else better to do at the time, and doing so allows me, having already initiated the coming vortex, to proceed directly to the sink for hand washing. The slight delay between the actuation of the lever and the initiation of the hydrological process, allows every bit of the last drops go the way of all things…ninety-five percent of the time. However, it is the risk of that rare exception, when a drop of urine might remain behind in the bowl of relatively fresh water, that infuriates my beloved.
Keep in mind that all the while, the last few drops of her pee get left behind, one hundred percent of the time, having been first absorbed into that repulsive gaggle of pink floating johnny paper that is now contaminating the pool in which it floats. This unaesthetic center-piece remains the cover-shot of our private, home edition of Bathrooms Designs. The unsightly floating mass, some how always makes me want to gag!
So, you see the obvious comparison, but remain silent about it, I must. Until next time, remember to – check your brains at the door!