Something they don’t tell you when you get married, is how many places you are each going to be dragged to, by the other one.
You may have noticed that I specialize in broad generalizations. But here’s one that applies to most men: You will be dragged to countless wedding receptions, parties, his-and-hers baby showers, fabric stores, and craft faires. Also jewelry stores, in which my friend, Bob Rogers, says, “Nothing good can ever happen for a man.”
Women are dragged on motocross runs, to loud monster truck arenas, through the electronics store, to ninja movies, to guns-and-fishing sporting goods shops, and urged to attend numerous sports that don’t appeal to them.
And we go. We go because we don’t want them to find a more agreeable partner, and also simply because we love them and want to support their weird choice without actually calling it a weird choice.
So a fabulous new home accessory store opened up, and I couldn’t wait to drag, I mean take, St. Bob there with me. I could almost feel my own eyes twinkling, as I imagined it. The store would be filled with irresistible pillows, rugs, vases, china, glassware, candlesticks, and lamps—all begging to beautify our home.
Dutiful husband that he is, St. Bob came along. In no time I found a gorgeous serving bowl. Then I turned over the price tag. “A hundred and sixty bucks?” I gasped. I moved on to some luxuriously soft towels. “Eighty dollars for a hand towel?” Next I found a framed mirror that cost more than my first car. And my second car. Put together.
I looked up at Bob and frowned, but persevered until we had walked every aisle and I had gone from eager anticipation to scowling aggravation. “I hate this,” I said.
Bob smiled. “Whose idea was it to come here?” he asked. “A, Joni or B, Bob?”
“I also hate multiple choice questions,” I muttered. This is not entirely true, but true when I know the answer and I don’t like it.
Finally we made our way back to the car, Bob happy that Joni didn’t find anything to buy, and Joni mad for the same reason plus the fact that Bob seemed so delighted about it.
I pouted for half a mile until Bob said, “How about some ice cream?” And that’s how to make marriage work.