(I love my cats.*)
The Husband: So, how do you feel if I go?
Me: I don’t think I’m comfortable with that.
Me: I… don’t know.
I am nothing if not seriously awful when it comes to explaining how I feel. I need time to sort through my thoughts first. I tend to shut down. Close off. I need to digest everything, mull it over, obsess about it and decide how I’m going to handle things.
So, when I immediately told him I wasn’t comfortable with the idea, that was very unlike me. Normally, I’d say something much more articulate like hmmm and then go hide away in a dark corner. But don’t worry. As soon as he asked why, my natural instinct to retreat kicked in. Hence the very eloquent I don’t know.
The truth is, I did know. I knew immediately why I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of my husband traipsing off to Las Vegas for an ENTIRE NIGHT with a group of single friends. And it had nothing to do with my fear of murderers and rapists breaking in. Or of accidentally stabbing myself with the knife I keep next to the bed when I’m home alone. (Don’t laugh.)
Maybe it’s a sign of personal growth or maybe I was just so tuned into why it bothered me, but this one didn’t take me long. I sat down next to him on the sofa and announced, “There are three things that bother me about this trip.”
Then he rattled off some stats from the all-star game and I had to kill him.
Oh, relax. I kid! That only happened in my head.
Me: Honey, please.
Him: I’m sorry. What are the three things?
Me: Well, the first and most obvious one is money. Of which we have, like, NONE.
Him: (nodding) True.
Me: The second thing is… well, I thought you didn’t even want to go.
Him: I don’t, but they keep hassling me about it.
(I will never understand this. If you don’t want to do something, don’t do it. Or if you do, don’t be afraid to say it.)
Me: (after a long pause during which I looked at him with one eyebrow raised IN DOUBT) Ooooh-kay. Well. The third thing is that I’m really just not comfortable with my husband taking a trip to Las Vegas with a group of his single friends. Oh which there are men and women.
This is when I proceeded to explain myself, but I’ll spare you the details since I already covered them in a previous post.
Him: (after listening to me ramble on and on incessantly for eighteen minutes) Honey, I understand. I won’t go. I really don’t want to spend the money, anyway. Hey, look. Joe Mauer’s up.
Me: (pause) He’s hot.
*This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post.