Monthly Archives: February 2009

Personality Test

This is from my pal Moira (who is so totally worth a bookmark) about the brilliance of the end-of-day-decison-making by the hubby.

Here is the scenario:

You are at work. It takes you 15 minutes to get to the train and it is 6:08pm. The train leaves at 6:20pm. You have only 12 minutes. What do you do?

  • Option A – Make a run for it. Literally run through the streets of Boston arriving at the station out of breath and in a sweat with the chance of making the train. You never know, you could be a really fast runner that day or the train could be a few minutes late. Stranger things have happened afterall and you never say die. If you miss it you will have to wait one hour and 20 minutes for the next train. However, you could get a bite to eat or pick out a nice book to enjoy. Maybe even call your wife with a hilarious tale of jumping over an old lady and a dog only to have in fact missed the train.
  • Option B – Try to catch a cab. If you get one in time, you make your train. If not, you can go back to your office to wait for the 7:40. Calling your wife to let her know that you tried but it just wasn’t in the cards.
  • Option C – Calmly accept in a Zen-like fashion that you will in all likelihood miss the train and wait patiently for the 7:40. Getting more work done and calling your wife like a thousand times to help keep you entertained.

Since I designed the test I get to tell you what the results mean.

Choosing Option A is the correct answer. Mostly because it is the one I would choose. You are the type of person to never give up. You would have done well on the Apollo 13 Space Flight or as a Boston Red Sox fan at anytime in the 86 years prior to 2004.

Choosing Option B would be a nice compromise. You are not the type of person to jump in the pool without at least sticking a toe in first. However, you are open to the possibility of the impossible. You just don’t think it happens all that often.

Choosing Option C. Apparently it means I married you which might just be why you need this Zen-like peace of yours. I get it. But really what the F**! are you thinking?! Get off the phone and make a run for the F’ing train!!

Men and women think so differently in our house. I don’t think I’ll ever not be surprised by this little fact of life. How did you score?

Moira, I can assure you that my better half would be a total C.  In fact he is calling me from the car right now to make his drive home pass quickly. Seems he left to late to beat the traffic. 


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Proof (Really really funny proof)

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As I was walking to basketball this week, I saw the female referee in the parking lot, clearly in a rush. I couldn’t help but here her giving last minute instructions to her better half about which kid needed  to be where and at what time. As she is rushing to get into the gym, he gives he the head tilt and dazed look … “And how do I get there? Which way should I go — the highway or just along Lakeshore?”  By this point I am really giggling to myself. We end up walking toward the gym together and I kind of laugh and say “Where would they be without us telling them what to do.”  She breathed this huge sigh and laughed out loud and said “I thought only mine was like that!”. I assured her that as a rule, the fellas need instructions for almost everything that has to do with home or family or in fact, anytime their wives and girlfriends might be present to do their thinking for them. They are all good with work, hockey, cars, construction, or whatever else their interests at the moment might be — then they know EVERYTHING.  But when it comes to simple day to day life, like cutting up the pizza, which road to take, where’s the mustard, or which hat the kid should wear — they need constant hand holding.  The Ref and I had a good laugh and I explained about everything being ‘beside the butter’ — and her comment was “Ya but what if he can’t find the butter?”  Good point.

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It’s a little word. Only three letters. Even a kid can sound it out.  So why is it do damn hard for the boys to remember what it means?  Dinner’s ready now.  The garbage needs to go out now. It’s time to leave now. Time and again I hear myself (in my head) screaming “WHAT DON’T YOU GET ABOUT NOW — I SAID NOW?”  Is there a secret dictionary for men where the meanings of all the words are changed?  Does now actually mean “whenever the hell you feel like it?” ‘Cause if that’s the case, I am going to start applying it to things like … like… like … dinner. See, I can’t even come up with an idle threat because now is so irrelevant to him. It’s one of the big sticking points between us —  I live life now and he lives it whenever the hell he feels like it. 

Not long ago we were going to friends for dinner and so when it was approaching time to leave, knowing it’s critical to give advance warning, I said “I am going to have a quick shower and then we’ll go OK?” “Sure” he says. So after my 3 minute and 24 second shower, I expect to find him getting ready. No, in fact, he has put on his ratty old jeans and boots and is out on the back deck shoveling snow, which of course means the complete 20 minute shower, clothes change and then we’re late for dinner. I lean out the window, “Did ya have to do that now?”  In return, I get the big heavy sigh the snarky tone “We’ll this morning you said to do it NOW.”  Silly me, and I thought now meant NOW.


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Yelling in Print

Honestly – what’s with these male obsessions that come out of the blue?  My hubby decided to obsess about cereal this week. Specifically, the amount of sugar in his cereal. He doesn’t give a damn about that bucket of chocolate ice cream he downed during the first period of the hockey game, or the chocolate chip cookies he stole from the kids’ stash, but be sure — he wants no sugar in his cereal. I know this because I found it written in CAPITAL LETTERS (which we all know = YELLING) all over the white board where I scribble a grocery list.  And, no, he didn’t just write what he wanted — he wrote DO NOT BUY THIS BECAUSE SUGAR IS THE FIRST INGREDIENT AND I NEVER CHECKED BEFORE.  Ya? Even though you’ve been happily scarfing it down for the last 6 months? So, I give him the benefit of the doubt and proceed to read every cereal label in the store to find the highest fibre, lowest sugar combo of granola-bar-looking-cardboard that I can find. Sure enough next morning I hear the big ‘HUMPH’ from the kitchen and “Is this cereal for me?” “Yes” I say and explain my shopping criteria and point out the very low sugar content. “Well” he complains “it has no added sugar but it’s full of artificial stuff and still tastes sweet”.  I know this is where your expect to read that I dumped the entire box of flakes over his head — and trust me, I should have.

The whole thing reminds me of a few years back when my Dad commented on the crease in his jeans and how my Mom folded them. Well, after 35 or so years of laundry my Mom lost it — or found it really, in terms of a new attitude — and calmly, but painfully clearly no doubt, told my Dad that he could do his own laundry from then on. Stunningly, he has ever since (well kinda sorta but he really tries). Of course, they were retired at the time which made it bit easier for my Dad to find the time to hone his new laundry skills. So I’m thinking, my parent have been married almost 47 years and we are barely clawing our way to 15.  Do I have to wait 30 years before I can finally say “Screw you — buy your own damn cereal”?  I think not.

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Boys and Cars

Not long ago, I mentioned that we had an ‘event’ in our corner of the world that could take first prize in the “most-annoying-husband” contest. I’m sharing this now only because enough time has passed that I can tell the tale without the very real possibility of my head popping off — something I was convinced was going to happen at the time. In fact, as I type, I can feel my blood start to boil. Perhaps I’ll only write a couple of lines at a time because the darlin’ is working at home today (a treat in and of itself!) and if I write it all at once, I might  just have to run upstairs and smack him upside the head every few minutes.  So here we go … 

Six months ago, we moved, to a new home in a new country. Prior to moving, we had lived apart during the week for 2+ years so I was accustomed to ‘doing it all’ as far as family life was concerned. Not entirely easy but the job required it and so ‘ya do what gotta do’. And let’s be honest with him only home on weekends, the house was cleaner, the schedule tighter and I could channel Jerry Sienfeldand eat cereal for dinner whenever I wanted. So when moving time came, it was just like day-to-day life, I was in charge. From endless open houses, to packing up, gathering records, transitioning kids, researching the new place — blah, blah blah — lots of you have done it, par for the course.  So I gave my husband one job. ONE. Uno. One f*%$#inglousy, simple, straight forward, task.  It was up to him to handle our vehicles, moving, registration etc.  He’s  your typical male car fanatic and generally claims to know everything about the topic and it was only one job — boys and cars — how tough could that be?

Weeeeeelllllll …  fast forward through 4 months worth of “Did you call the Registry?” “Did you mail in those forms?” “Did you get the title?” “Did you…Did you .. Did you???”   Hey baby, I’m not hiding anything, when push comes to shove, I can nag with the best of them. The main problem was that the car was in his name, so as much as I wanted to take over and spit out the standard response to male procrastination  — big huff “… FINE… I’ll just do it myself!!!” — I couldn’t.  I was stuck with having to rely on the boy. Ugh.

Naturally, I should have seen it coming. On the very first day of 2009 — Happy New Year!! — I pull up to the 4-way stop near home and out of the corner of my eye see a cop in front of our house. Of course I panic and FAIL to come to a full and complete stop. With great pleasure the cop points out the my license and plates should have been switched over months ago and he yanks both and parks my car. Funny enough, that was not when my head exploded. It was a few minutes later when my dear husband pulled the yet-to-be mailed-and-now-crumpled forms out of his briefcase and said “Well it wasn’t me who ran the stop sign.”  I can assure you it was days before I was capable of speaking in a tone that didn’t frighten small animals. 

Thankfully every call to every girlfriend that day, and there were many,  all resulted in that same sharp intake of breath and the instant “Heeeee did NOT?!?!?!!?” that we all love to hear.  One friend, who is both brilliant and practical, was right on the money, “ALWAYS have the car in you name. Because one day, when you have no choice but to run him over with it, you want to make sure you keep the car.”  Very good point.

To add insult to injury, his own car, properly registered months earlier I might add, was a two-seater (Hello mid-life crisis!) and as much as I was game to try, stuffing both kids , 2 scooters, and 4 bags of groceries into that front seat was only going to jack up the ticket debt way past the $500 that I was already trying to swallow.  So, I had to suck it up and spend a small fortune to rent a a little piece of junk (AKA ‘the dork car’ according to the kids) with actual legal license plates for 10 days while my dear hubby dealt with the paperwork.

Stunningly enough, it didn’t end there.  A few weeks later he got pulled over himself because he had failed to put the front plate on his own car — spoils the look don’tcha know?  He assured me that before we moved, he only needed one plate — so how was he supposed to know he had to put both on here?  “Duuuuuuh — maybe the fact that the registry gave you two mightabeen your first clue?”  Judging by his reaction, pointing that out didn’t really help. He followed that up with a ticket for parking on the street over night, right below the NO Overnight Parkingsign and today I pointed out for the third time that he’s driving around with only one brake light. 

So much for boys and cars being a good match. Is it any wonder that I have a single hair left on my head?

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From Michele …

“Beside the Butter” is clearly not a new concept. Isn’t this a riot!


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