Thursday, February 7, 2008

Gotta Do Watcha Do Best

The other day I got frustrated with the Esposo for not noticing we were running dangerously low on garbage bags. This caused me to have a weird little argument, with myself, in my own tiny brain.

PETTY SELF: How could he not notice we have no garbage bags?

SELF-ACTUALIZED SELF: Could be he’s busy earning cabbage so we can all continue to eat and live.

PETTY SELF: But it’s garbage bags. We need them. For garbage. How hard can it be to notice they’re almost gone?

SELF-ACTUALIZED SELF: You know, you really shouldn’t let this bother you so much.

PETTY SELF: I just wish he’d take the initiative to say “Hey look! We’re running low on garbage bags! I think I’ll put them on the list!”

SELF-ACTUALIZED SELF: Sure. Then you’d wish you hadn’t married some guy who talks like a freaky, stepfordish man-bot.

PETTY SELF: You are totally bugging me right now.

SELF-ACTUALIZED SELF: Hey don’t be hatin’. Besides, you’re good at stuff like that.

And then it hit me: I AM good at stuff like that. It’s like I’ve been programmed to constantly scan our little homestead to see what resources we have and what we need to replenish. I just sort of do it without thinking about it. Meanwhile, the Esposo has been known to put an empty carton of orange juice back in the fridge while he chats absentmindedly on the phone.

I also have a sixth sense that pulls me toward the bill file at just the right times throughout the month to ensure all our bills are paid on time, every time. Again, it just sort of happens. These things are like big huge beacons on my radar, so I can’t fathom how they don’t even register as a tiny blip on his.

But then I recall one of the lessons that they pounded into us at the b-school program where we met: stick to your core competence. And I remember the wisteria. The Esposo has climbed up on a ladder and tamed that tangled mass at least a dozen times since we’ve lived here. I never even give it a glance, until I see how much better it looks after he climbs triumphantly down the ladder, all cut up and sweating.

And then there are the constant little construction projects that we always need done around here. Last month he hung up a door in our basement. Not like a door that was already set up where you just needed to line up the hinges and drop in the pins. Any bozo can do that. I mean he actually installed a door where previously there was no such door. From scratch. It would never occur to me that anyone off the street could just do that. But he did it.

And all the while, I was fluttering about safely upstairs, tending to Peapod. And noticing that we needed more dishwasher soap.

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