Friday, February 24, 2012

Indirect Direction


Many years ago a wise man said "it's the simple things that make life great." 

At least, I'm pretty sure somebody said that and, if he did, he was right and, if it was a lady, then I'm a sexist. 

Sleeping on your back. Wearing jeans. Being able to see the entirety of your feet. Sitting and standing with ease. These are all things that fall by the wayside for pregnant ladies.

Comfort is, in many day-to-day activities, lost.

Pictured: The male brain.
Mrs. Blackwell is a pretty meat-and-potatoes lady. She's got a bit of princess in her but, ultimately, she doesn't require much in the way of creature comforts. That said, as her tummy grows, the times they are a changin'. 

The first manifestation of this shift was the abundance of pillows now required. Three appears to be the magic number and, if we're on the couch where the pillows in question are of the "throw" variety, that number swells to five. 

And when there's a comfort deficit, naturally, the husband is there to fill the void. Timely, consistently and always with clenched teeth smiles on their faces, husbands are there.

However (and forgive me again if this sounds sexist) Mrs. Blackwell is like many women in that she rarely asks directly for what she needs. 

Instead of a request for a blanket, I'm asked if it "feels cold in here." If she wants a glass of water it's "are you going to the kitchen?" completely ignoring that I'm firmly planted on the couch and by no conceivable measure "going to the kitchen." If she'd like me to make her lunch it's: "are you making lunch?" 

They were going to a ball game - then their wives needed talk to them.
Ditto for breakfast except it's first thing in the morning and I'm barely aware of my surroundings. In this instance I'm halfway through making eggs and English muffins before I know what's hit me. 

What's sad and profoundly disturbing is how many other instances where this is  possibly happening and it flies right under my radar. I've found myself spontaneously unloading the laundry when I was on my way out the door. 

You can call it "picking up the slack" and that's fine and true. However, what  often leads to these activities is a sad commentary on the male state of awareness. 

Asking my wife to be more direct would be tantamount to a white flag and something foolish pride prevents. The alternative is to get better at detecting when I'm subversively being put to work. 

So far, I am getting better at picking up on it.....and I've got the sparkling kitchen floor to prove it.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Ah yes! So true, so true. A good chuckle. Thanks!