We never fight. I'm told that that's not normal and that when we do eventually have one, it'll be only fucking massive and our heads will explode and all the bile and venom we've been storing up will come spilling out and fuck up the carpets. But I don't think so.
When we went for pre-marriage counselling, we had to fill out His&Hers questionnaires about all sorts of squirmy personal things. Am I happy to initiate sex? "Yes!" I wrote on the form, with an exclamation mark for unnecessary emphasis. "Sure look at him! He's gorgeous!" I said when she repeated the question during the session. And I added two exclamation marks and squeezed his thigh affectionately, because he really is gorgeous. She repeated all of the questions during the session, by the way, it's not just that she didn't buy my answer on that one. It was a "here's what she said, now let's see what you said..." kinda deal, which is a great way to introduce some tension to a sunny Saturday morning. How do you feel about living with your parents, or having them come live with you? "Umm..." we said in unison. How may children would you like to have, if any? "2 or 3" we'd both written, and we confirmed it with smugly satisfied nods. Some of the questions were that easy. And then some weren't. Write about a time when you were hurt by your partner. How did you deal with it?
I was stumped. Andrew's never hurt me. Not on purpose, anyway. He didn't wash the dishes for a few days once even though it was his turn, so I ate cereal from a tupperware bowl instead of washing one as a kitchen-sink passive-aggressive dirty protest. He caught my hair once when he was pouncing onto the couch for a cuddle and I squealed "OW! MY HAIR!" and he said sorry and kissed it better. He...
Nah. I had nothing for her. Nothing of substance that would hold up to scrutiny in a counselling session, anyway. The same question was asked of him and I braced myself for his answer, remembering a hundred and one thoughtless moments of mine where I let him down and hurt him. But he hadn't been able to think of any to write down either.
I know. We're freaks. There are others like us, but they appear to be few and far between and mostly confined to my family. My sister-in-law confided in me once that she and my brother never fight either. They, like us, hadn't really thought about it all that much until they were prompted to by a pre-marriage course. The only incident they could recall was when one of them dropped a rasher and the other one made a smart remark. They both really really love their rashers. The only incident I could recall was when Andrew beeped at a caravan we were stuck behind for ages even though I'd said "don't beep at the caravan". The caravan pulled in, we passed, and I sulked tearfully all the way to Enniskillen. Mostly because I was hungry.
My friend Roo overheard the conversation between my sister-in-law and I and laughed at us for a full five minutes. He thought it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Rashers! Caravans! "Youse are freaks" he said. He and his wife like a good scrap. She walked down the aisle to meet him at the altar to the theme from Last of the Mohicans. I haven't the same appetite for theatrics, though I admire it in them. Sometimes I get cross with Andrew, sure. For making a mess or sleeping in late or not making a dental appointment and then breaking a tooth and then threatening to gross me out by showing it to me. Sometimes he gets cross with me for stressing myself out or being too nice to people who aren't very nice to me or pretending that I know best about everything in the kitchen (and given that the kitchen accounts for 50% of our living space, I pretend that I know best about a lot of shit). But I just say it to him, or he says it to me, and that's alright. He still makes a mess and sleeps in late and has snaggleteeth and I'm still a bundle of anxiety and a bit of a doormat and a dickhead in the kitchen, but that's alright too. It's the little things that try us, said the man of the pygmy judge.
When we went for pre-marriage counselling, we had to fill out His&Hers questionnaires about all sorts of squirmy personal things. Am I happy to initiate sex? "Yes!" I wrote on the form, with an exclamation mark for unnecessary emphasis. "Sure look at him! He's gorgeous!" I said when she repeated the question during the session. And I added two exclamation marks and squeezed his thigh affectionately, because he really is gorgeous. She repeated all of the questions during the session, by the way, it's not just that she didn't buy my answer on that one. It was a "here's what she said, now let's see what you said..." kinda deal, which is a great way to introduce some tension to a sunny Saturday morning. How do you feel about living with your parents, or having them come live with you? "Umm..." we said in unison. How may children would you like to have, if any? "2 or 3" we'd both written, and we confirmed it with smugly satisfied nods. Some of the questions were that easy. And then some weren't. Write about a time when you were hurt by your partner. How did you deal with it?
I was stumped. Andrew's never hurt me. Not on purpose, anyway. He didn't wash the dishes for a few days once even though it was his turn, so I ate cereal from a tupperware bowl instead of washing one as a kitchen-sink passive-aggressive dirty protest. He caught my hair once when he was pouncing onto the couch for a cuddle and I squealed "OW! MY HAIR!" and he said sorry and kissed it better. He...
Nah. I had nothing for her. Nothing of substance that would hold up to scrutiny in a counselling session, anyway. The same question was asked of him and I braced myself for his answer, remembering a hundred and one thoughtless moments of mine where I let him down and hurt him. But he hadn't been able to think of any to write down either.
I know. We're freaks. There are others like us, but they appear to be few and far between and mostly confined to my family. My sister-in-law confided in me once that she and my brother never fight either. They, like us, hadn't really thought about it all that much until they were prompted to by a pre-marriage course. The only incident they could recall was when one of them dropped a rasher and the other one made a smart remark. They both really really love their rashers. The only incident I could recall was when Andrew beeped at a caravan we were stuck behind for ages even though I'd said "don't beep at the caravan". The caravan pulled in, we passed, and I sulked tearfully all the way to Enniskillen. Mostly because I was hungry.
My friend Roo overheard the conversation between my sister-in-law and I and laughed at us for a full five minutes. He thought it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. Rashers! Caravans! "Youse are freaks" he said. He and his wife like a good scrap. She walked down the aisle to meet him at the altar to the theme from Last of the Mohicans. I haven't the same appetite for theatrics, though I admire it in them. Sometimes I get cross with Andrew, sure. For making a mess or sleeping in late or not making a dental appointment and then breaking a tooth and then threatening to gross me out by showing it to me. Sometimes he gets cross with me for stressing myself out or being too nice to people who aren't very nice to me or pretending that I know best about everything in the kitchen (and given that the kitchen accounts for 50% of our living space, I pretend that I know best about a lot of shit). But I just say it to him, or he says it to me, and that's alright. He still makes a mess and sleeps in late and has snaggleteeth and I'm still a bundle of anxiety and a bit of a doormat and a dickhead in the kitchen, but that's alright too. It's the little things that try us, said the man of the pygmy judge.
