Dorie Morgan’s Rising Up
Navigating Twenty-Something Suburban Life
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Archive of "compromise" Category
His name is Steve
After about a month in the house, I began to realize that Brian did not kill the water bug. The giant, menacing water bug that was lurking in my house. And the giant menacing water bug start to become a little more brazen, running into the bathroom when I was brushing my teeth or coming into the office while I was reading. The water bug was starting to get comfortable.
I was not having any of it but I would not kill the bug myself. Bugs freak me out.
So I finally snapped one night as I was going up the stairs and the water bug ran past the top of the stairs. I started screaming my head and B came running as if I was seconds away from dying. Which I was contemplating. It would either be a heart attack or a murder-suicide (in which the bug killed me and then turned his evil methods on himself).
“Brian, the bug is still here. Why is the bug still here? I am freaking out.”
And my dear, sweet, kind husband replies: “Well. He’s just minding his own business. He runs around in the hallway and doesn’t go in the rooms. And he doesn’t really cause any trouble. He’s kinda like our pet.”
“Our pet?”
“Yeah. I was thinking we could name him Steve.”
“Um, Steve is a big, nasty bug. Steve is dirty. Are you emotionally attached to Steve?”
“No, but I just really don’t want to kill him.”
“I knew it! You’re emotionally attached to Steve. A big, nasty, dirty bug named Steve who is tormenting, tormenting!, your poor wife who just wants to walk down the hallway without wearing shoes. You know I keep shoes by the bed so I don’t step on ‘Steve’ in my bare feet?”
“No…”
“And now, you’re emotionally attached to Steve. You won’t kill Steve for me! You’ll never kill Steve! Our babies won’t ever learn to walk because we won’t be able to put them on the floor because Steve might eat our babies and we won’t want to kill Steve! And what about the cats? We won’t be able to get kitty friends because they might eat Steve and we’d have to save Steve from the kitty friends!”
“Fine. I’ll kill Steve.”
“Don’t kill Steve for me. Although I guess we’ll have to tell your sister that we can’t watch the baby anymore because Steve, a big, nasty bug is more important than the baby.”
“I’ll go kill Steve. Because you’re right. Steve is a big, nasty bug who doesn’t belong in our house.”
“I hope Steve isn’t a Stephanie.”
In the end, it took about half a can of Raid to kill Steve while I screamed my head off as he tried to escape my husband, the terminator (cue music). He fought hard against it but ultimately he lost his battle and his giant, nasty bug corpse found its way into the kitchen trash. Which I made Brian take out on trash day in case I was attacked by a mutant zombie Steve.
Politics at Home: Just don’t say a word
About a week before the Pennsylvania Primaries, there was a message on the answering machine from my husband’s grandmother. I was excited to know she called – most of Brian’s family lives in Florida and as a result, we don’t get to hear from them very often.
But when we listened to the message, we deleted it. She called to tell us how important it is for us to vote for Barack Obama.
It isn’t that we weren’t interested in hearing from his family. It’s just that Brian and I don’t talk about politics at home.
Why? Three reasons:
- By and large, Brian’s family is made up of very liberal, Democrat types. None of them are quite so bad as my neighbor down the street who built a shrine to Hilary Clinton on his front yard (and still has part of it up, apparently he never got the phone call about Barack Obama) but at the end of the day, they are Democrats.
- My husband is not a registered voter. He never has been. He never will be. I told him I found men that were not registered to vote sexually unattractive but he didn’t care. He refuses to take part in what he identifies as a corrupt system. He also tells me that it is because he does not like the idea of being controlled and therefore does not like the idea of selecting who is going to control him.
- I am a registered Republican. I registered as soon as the paperwork arrived in the mail and I have stayed true to my beliefs despite living in a township that is 98% Democrat.
Clearly, we don’t agree on politics in my household. And for a while, this was a source of stress and arguments. So we decided no more politics. It was better for us that way. We were tired of arguing, I was tired of being ganged up on by Brian’s friends and family and everyone was tired of me threatening to stop feeding them for attacking my belief system. At one point, it felt like a verbal political gang bang and I did not like being on the receiving end of that train.
Eventually we realized it wasn’t politics that we had a problem with discussing. We talked about abortion, gay marriage, separation of church and state, tax policy, polygamy, etc. on a regular basis. The problem came when we put the names on those things. When we left the “Democrat” or “Republican” words away from the conversation, we were able to really discuss what was at the heart of the issue and leave our charged emotions at the door. We were able to have a rational discussion and truly learn about where the other person was coming from.
I’ve had my opinion changed on a few things as a result. Brian still has not registered to vote but I’m becoming increasingly okay with that. And I did tell him that if felt so inclined to register, I would not say a word if he registered as a Democrat.
Why Car Shopping Changes How I Look at My Marriage
After a year of persistent nagging, Brian has finally taken my dear sweet Beast of a car to the mechanic for inspection. Yes, that’s right, I’ve been driving a car illegaly for a year now. I know I could have easily taken the car in myself but I was trying to make a point.
Sadly, my car did not survive the inspection.
I drive, I mean, I drove a 1992 Buick Park Avenue that was luxary back in the day. I affectionately refer to my pimped out old man car as “The Beast”. I thought it was clever when I was in college because then I could be “Beauty in The Beast”. Haha. I loved this car though. Originally the car belonged to my grandfather until three years ago when we took his license away and he gave me the car.
The thought of getting rid of this car pains me. But the idea of spending two thousand dollars just to pass inspection pains me more. Brian, however, is rejoicing. He has long hated the Beast and I suspect he now feels liberated from seeing it parked out side of our house. I’m just sad. I had great plans to still be driving the car when I had kids.
Now I find myself car shopping with my husband which is a very interesting and surprising experience. So far, the process is really highlighting the difference between Brian and myself.
- Brian likes to go into a sales situation knowing more about the product than the sales person whereas I think that’s a waste of my time. I like to go to numerous places, see what they tell me and then make a decision. I can’t be an expert on everything, nor do I want to be an expert.
- Brian and I share an opinion that a car is a poor investment. Its one of the reasons why we will never own a new car. But I still find we are on opposite ends of the car buying spectrum. Brian believes in buying the cheapest car possible. I believe that’s throwing more money down the drain. If I have to have a car payment, I was to invest in a vehicle that will last until my first child is in elementary school, which is about eight years from now.
- Brian is looking for a car that will get me from Point A to Point B and that he will want to drive on the weekends. I’m looking for a car that could be filled with strollers and kids in a few years from now.
- Brian wants a Mitsubishi. I don’t.
- Brian is okay buying a car from a discount auto mall. I think a reputable car broker is essential to the car buying process.
- I think this is an important decision but it needs to be made quickly. Brian wants to take his time. Probably because he’s busy trying to be an expert in car buying. Grrrr.
For now we are still trying to duke out what car shopping will look like for us. And the compromising is tough. I’m half tempted to get our pastor, Todd, involved and call it marital counseling because I’m not sure we have the language to effectively compromise and communicate on this.
May 16 aka 31 days
Last night I watched my almost husband sleep on the floor in green pasley boxers that I bought for him at Christmas as I half read Anne Lamott and I half listened to a thunderstorm roll into the Levittown skies.
I call Brian my “almost husband” because any other term available to describe his roll in my life seems horribly inaccurate. “Fiance” reminds me too much of Seinfeld and “maybe the dingo ate your baby” and I really don’t want to be thinking about Julia Louis Dreyfuss when I think about my mate. The term “boyfriend” seems to downplay Brian’s roll in my life as if he was a leftover relic from my college days with no actual commitment on the horizon. Which he is not. Thank you very much. I cannot yet call Brian my husband because the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and my mother object on the grounds that our legally binding promise has yet to be signed. They apparently do not agree with my belief that engagement is just as binding as marriage.
Almost Husband it is.
Another accurate way to describe Brian is to refer to him as my better half. I do not say that to degrade or berate myself but as our premarital counselor so nicely put it, I have “tendencies” towards “agressive, dominant” behavior and intolerance, and Brian, well, he does not.
She also tried to tell us that the personality test which supplied the information was only a snapshot in time but I would be lying to myself if I did not admit that the statement is accurate on a daily basis.
Clearly, my almost husband is better than your almost husband. Mainly because he puts up with me.
Brian continues to amaze me each day. He has a wonderful ability to see through my, ahem, shit in a way that no one else can. And I have a lot of shit that needs to be seen through. I don’t like to think of myself as someone who fronts, but I do know that I tend to only show one aspect of myself at a time to people in the outside world. All of it is accurate, but I’m still not showing everything. Okay, so maybe I front. My front is so good that even I forget that I’m fronting. At times, my front is like a creeping ivy that has overtaken a house and only a certain almost husband seems to be able to see through that ivy to the potential that lies beneath it.
Brian keeps me nice. I don’t mean that in a way that implies that he pays for everything (although he does pay for quite a bit more than I do). Brian is my personal editor through life. He edits my post it note directions for our family with “please” and “thank you” and “have a nice day” and “:)”. He stops me from leaving post it notes that say “take out the g-ddamn trash” for the wonderful family members who live with us. He let me buy a big soft comfortable mattress even though he would rather sleep on a plank. Why? Because it made me happy. He humors me. He willingly goes to my alma mater to visit my college friends even though he thinks the college I went to was weird and the people I knew were even weirder. He looks for ways to make my life better.
I tend to freak out on him because the dinner table isn’t set, I have at least three more load of laundry to do, and he’s been home for three hours longer than I have and all I wanted to do was paint my nails.
Thank god he lets me.
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