‘We’re one crazy mixed-up couple’
They say that opposites attract. Well, The Dude and I have been married more years than most of you Dear Readers have been alive. Which is pretty amazing in and of itself. But it’s even more amazing given how, well, opposite the two of us are.
In fact, I’d call us bi-polar opposites, given that our differences often drive us crazy.
Okay, there’s the easy stuff. I’m coffee; he’s tea. I’m radio-on-in-the-car; he’s I-want-to-appreciate-the-silence. I like parties; he’s I’ve-worked-hard-all-day-and-want-to-crash-at-home. I like novels; he only reads non-fiction. (‘Why would I want to read something that someone made up?‘) I love art; he only likes art that looks like what it’s supposed to be and/or looks like it was very hard to do.
And what is it with hot and cold? Has there ever been a married couple who agrees on the thermostat? There he is, in the dead of winter, wearing a tee-shirt and turning up the heat; I say put on a sweater — preferably one of the many I’ve knit for you.
Speaking of sweaters and clothing in general, I have to say that I have never met a man less into his wardrobe. Having once had a European Peacock for a BF (the ‘Walloon’ in my story ‘Yes, there are plenty of fish in the sea’), I find The Dude’s disregard for fashion rather refreshing. In fact, it’s one of the things I admire most about him.
Except if, say, we’re going to a fancy party or a wedding. Then his disregard and/or indifference to even the basics — like which-color-goes-with-what — can call for some gentle intervention. (See ‘Clothes don’t make The Dude’ for colorful mismatched details.)
Oh, and speaking of going to weddings — or going anywhere for that matter. You know how there’s that cliche where the husband is always waiting by the door tapping his foot and looking at his watch while the wife takes forever to get ready? Well, it’s the other way around at our house. And then when we’re finally on our way, he has to go back at least once for his wallet/glasses/keys.
On re-reading what I’ve written so far, I’m thinking I’m sounding a bit shrewish. So let’s move on to some opposites that are a bit more, shall we say, positive? Like, I have The Dude to thank for the fact that we take some Absolutely Fantastic Trips. (See top photo for our opposite reactions to riding in a dugout canoe.) Left to my own devices, I’d pick European Cities With Great Art every time. The Dude prefers Tropical Wildernesses With Great Birds. (See any of my posts about Africa or Brazil or Panama, like ‘The Curse of the Potoo’) These usually involve one or more element of danger/excitement/physical discomfort/general scary stuff. Consider my horizons expanded. And my adrenalin triggered.
Oh, and when we go on these trips, my duffels and backpacks and suchlike are packed and organized weeks ahead and he’s all casual and “Oh, I guess I’d better get it together” the night before. And when we get there, our room (or cabin or tent) is always so split-personality. My side looks like I’ve moved in for good, with my stuff put away in the drawers and arranged on the shelves. His is the side with the much-rummaged-in bag sitting on the floor where he dropped it. Oh well, maybe he’s got something there.
But enough already with the carping about our opposite attractions. Let’s wrap things up with a mention of something The Dude and I absolutely agree on: these 2018 Olympics, at least so far, are booooring. I mean, how much curling can a person watch? You know things are bad when you turn to social media and actually engage in exercises like this one:
Thanks for bearing with me. Until next week, here’s hoping your Valentine’s Day is sweet, and rest of the Olympics just gets over with already so I can catch up with The Crown. (Which I don’t know if The Dude likes. But he probably wouldn’t, since there are no car chases in it. Or at least none that I’ve seen — yet.)
New York City. February 2018