I love my husband. I really do. There are times, though, that I must admit I feel like we are surely speaking a different language to each other. How is it that I can say "The sky is blue", and he can hear, "We need some glue"? (No, that is not an actual conversation we have had, but you get my drift).
Is it all men who cannot see things that are right in front of them? I can't tell you how many times I will start eating something and he will say, "We have apples?" I look at him as if he is new here, and I reply in as calm a voice as possible, "Yes, Jim, we have had apples since four days ago, when I went grocery shopping". "Where were they?", he always asks. I sigh, and patiently answer, "In the fruit bin, in the refrigerator". "Oh, I didn't look in there". Then, he will remark, "We are out of salad dressing, you know". "No, we aren't. It's behind the ketchup. Did you look behind stuff?" Then, he assumes the sheepish look that I adore, and that usually saves him, and says, "Well...no".
I have always just assumed that women are the smarter sex, and that we just need to be patient with them, the poor souls. But lately, I'm wondering if I'm really the clueless one. One day, recently, the three of us were getting ready to go somewhere. I was packing the bag and getting Dylan's coat on. Then, I turned to where I thought my cell phone should be. "Jim? Do you know where my cell phone is?" He looked at ME like I was new here, and said, "Are you serious?" "Yea, I'm serious. Where is it?" "I just stuck it in your shorts pocket!" Wow. I am a pick pockets dream, apparently.
What happened a few nights ago was even more ridiculous. We were sitting on the couch, watching TV, and Jim was eating chips. He has this habit of taking the chip clip off the bag, and sticking it on my clothes. I think he feels it is funny, or something. Who knows? Anyway, since I fail to see the humor, I usually just take it off and fling it on his side of the couch.
The next morning was my day to sleep in, (Saturdays Rock!), so when I got up, Jim and Dylan were already in the kitchen eating breakfast. When I walked in, Jim bust out laughing. I was thinking, "What? Is my hair sticking up? You should see your hair sometimes and I refrain from laughing". I was about to say just that, when he pointed to my shirt. The shirt I had slept all night in. The shirt that still had the chip clip, (which happened to be a clothespin), sticking out of it!
Do you remember the post I wrote when I told you that I call my dad "Magoo"? Jim said that he thinks I inherited the "Magoo gene". He said I should have called this post, "Magoo, Who?" But I know the truth. I just can't think straight because I'm so exhausted, trying to interpret that other language that Jim keeps speaking to me.