WHAT IF PAULA ABDUL HAS BEEN RIGHT THIS WHOLE TIME?
I don’t talk about my husband much here. It’s not something he requested, it’s a choice I made on my own. He’s a private person (he doesn’t even have a Facebook account – WHAT), so it would feel horrible and gross for me to disrespect that part of him. I mean, I can’t imagine getting on here and sharing really intimate details about us. Add to that, the fact that my kids will (hopefully) be able to read one day, and it only confirms this is the right choice. It just wouldn’t feel right for my boys’ friends to read all about their mommy, and how she doesn’t give it up as much as she should to their daddy. They’re gonna need enough therapy as it is, with my genes.
Anyway, talking about him feels weird but, if I left him out, today’s post would end here <—.
I’ll be sure to stick to my standard measurement - Will this get him fired or arrested? – so I don’t over-share.
So, like I said, my husband is an introvert and I’m an extrovert. But, this barely scratches the surface of our differences.
Seriously, we could not be more opposite even if we tried. And, if we did try I would win, because I’m competitive, and he wouldn’t give a shit that I won, because he’s not.
Some of the million:
He’s tidy and organized and I am…not that.
He is laid-back and mellow and I am LOUD.
He reads really deep shit like The History of The World; I read People Magazine and Twitter.
He is balanced and moderate in his temperament; I am unbalanced and extreme in mine.
He runs, ducks, and takes cover from the spotlight, while I’m all like BRIGHTER, IT NEEDS TO BE BRIGHTER, I SAID.
He is a man of very few words and I am….shut up.
The first time we hung out I asked him, “Are you a mute?” and he said, “Just because I’m not talking to you doesn’t mean I don’t talk.” (But, really guys, it’s been over ten years since then and, trust me, he doesn’t talk.)
I know every single news story ever published throughout the world; He knows only those stories that make the front page of CNN or the New York Times. A seemingly innocuous fact that has caused many an argument.
ME: Hi. How was your day? Did you hear about that little girl’s puppy that was beaten and tortured right at the foot of her hospital bed?
HIM: Jesus, Allison. You’re such a Debbie Downer.
ME: I’m sorry, but I need to talk to someone about these horrible things. Speaking of horrible, did you hear about that plane that was carrying all those nuns? The one that crashed into the orphanage? No survivors. Awful, right? I can’t even imagine. It reminds me of that runaway train that derailed, crashed right into that nursing home, then exploded. They say you could hear the screams from outside, you know.
ME: Anyway, what should we do for dinner? Wait, what’s wrong, babe? Why the long face? Why are you always so serious?
Our taste in television is equally opposing. For example, I’ve been on an Infested marathon all week. For some reason, he thinks it’s weird that I like to watch scorpions falling onto people’s head from their living room rafters, or Hobo spiders crawling all over someone while they’re asleep. But, really, is there any better way to wind down at the end of a long day than to watch a family spend their entire life savings battling bedbugs? And, honestly, what is better than a family buying their dream home only to find out it was built ON TOP OF A SNAKE DEN? Nothing, that’s what. (Although, documentaries about serial killers do come in a close second.)
Being in a relationship with your polar opposite has its ups and downs, much like a roller-coaster.
At the beginning, when you’re dating, it’s super exciting.
Then, when you move in together, it’s a little less exciting and a little more holy shit what the hell have we done please pick up your gross towel and brush your teeth.
But, it has also has many, many benefits.
For instance, my husband loves that I talk for both of us at parties, because it’s easier for him.
I love that I get to talk for both of us at parties, because it’s really hard for me to shut the fuck up.
And, if I was in charge of paying the bills, I’d be sitting in a dark room telling all of this to my cat, instead of to you, because our electricity would have been shut off months ago.
Sometimes, I wish we were more alike. Sometimes, I think that would make life easier in a less-screaming, door-slamming way.
Other times, I question if easier equals better. Might easier be less-exciting? I guess it depends on the person.
But, at the end of my day, I probably do need someone to keep me in check and tell me when to shut my big mouth.
Even if there’s not a chance in hell I’ll listen.