He says, “Just ask me.” But why? Why do I always have to ask?
ME: So we’re agreed, it’s your job to walk the dog?
ME: So you’ll walk the dog every night?
Conversation every night for the next 84 dog years:
ME: Did you walk the dog tonight?
HIM: Why? Should I?
ME: WHAT? Ughh. Yes, will you please walk her?
HIM: Why are you frustrated? All you have to do is ask me.
You always have to ask.
You always have to ask.
He tells me, “Just ask me.”
But why? Why do I always have to ask?
If my husband knows that I am anywhere in the house, or within earshot of the house, or that I may be headed home within the next 30 minutes or so, then he will not get off the couch to do anything for the kids. No matter what is going on in the house. He could be watching a rerun of a football game, and I could be talking to the president and yet, nothing will ever get done unless I specifically ask him: “Hey, don’t you feel that water squirting all over you? Your son just dismantled the plumbing under the sink. I have Barack on the line, so would you kindly go outside and shut off the main water supply valve?”
Or, “Hey I’m in here giving birth to your second child, and your firstborn needs lunch. Would you be so kind as to make a sandwich?”
The other night I had the stomach flu, and I locked the door to the bathroom so that I could have some piracy. (That is what the kids call it. Piracy.)
Although, in the past, I have proved that it is possible to vomit with a 2-year-old jumping on your back, that night I was hoping to do it alone.
So this previously mentioned 2-year-old is banging on the door. “I need you. I need you,” he is screaming, and I cannot answer him except occasionally to sort of beg, “Please give me some peace.”
Now, my husband is right there on the bed outside the bathroom. I’m thinking, why can’t this guy help me out? I am getting angrier and angrier. Finally, guts wrenched clean, I open the door.
As calmly as I can muster, I try to explain to my son that I was sick, and he needed to give me some piracy. Then I look at my husband and I say, “He is not allowed to do that, you know. Couldn’t you have helped me a bit?”
“What?” he says.
“Your kid is banging on the door, and you know I’m sick,” I say.
“Oh. I didn’t even hear him,” he says. Two feet away and he couldn’t hear him.
If men could blow up from a death stare … (Well, he would have been dead a long time ago.)
But what I find the most fascinating is that I know he will never change and yet I still hope for it. What is wrong with me that I am incapable of accepting reality?
He will never change.
I know he will never change.
Yet every single day I wake up and I think this will be the day he does something without me asking.
And every day he wakes up and doesn’t think anything at all.