They’re not what you think.
The MotH* and I have been married for 23 years. That’s a long time. A loo-ooo-ooong time.
Any of you who are married, have been married or have read any of the articles about marriage published in various magazines know that it is a widely accepted fact that marriage is difficult.
It is fraught with hazards. The articles give advice on how to talk to your spouse about money, how to present a united front as parents, how to cope with in-laws and infidelity. There are caveats and suggestions aplenty for those planning a walk down the aisle as well as those who have made it through the ceremony and are stumbling through the adjustment period (which, by the way, is the entire length of the marriage, as far as I can see).
None of them really address some of the more ridiculous things that happen.
Like Christmas Eve over here at Casa Lagarto.
My mom spends Christmas with us. Fortunately, the MotH doesn’t seem to have an in-law problem. He and my mother get along pretty well. So…good.
This year, Mom and I were watching a movie, and he wasn’t interested. He went off to bed. After the credits rolled and Mom went to bed, I read for a bit until I got sleepy. I crept into the bedroom and slipped oh-so-silently in and out of the bathroom and into bed. I drifted into a dreamless sleep.
And then….
The MotH turned onto his side and sighed.
I surfaced briefly and went back to sleep.
He tossed onto his other side and coughed.
I grasped the shreds of sleep around me and pulled them over my head.
He rolled over. Toss, cough, sigh. Pause. Bigger sigh.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“No. I’m stuck.”
My foggy mind begins to grapple with this problem. He’s stuck. Stuck? I start to review how he could possibly be stuck lying in bed. He’s been rolling around. Clearly, he can move. I am aware that I can get out of the bed if I want to do so. What could be preventing him from doing the same? Am I going to be making a trip to the emergency room on Christmas Eve? And why? What in the world could be the problem?!
Before I can rule out a giant squid under the bed with grasping tentacles (because I am half asleep, remember?), he says, “I can’t think of that song.”
“Song?”
“Do you remember the words to that song in Les Miz with the people in the hotel?”
I am wide awake now.
Through clenched teeth, I say, “No. I don’t. I will google it for you in the morning.”
He sighs.
“Do you need to know now?” I demand.
“No. I guess not.”
“Go to sleep!” I say.
And he does.
And I am awake for an hour or two wondering how it is I haven’t knocked him on the head before now.
And those, my children, are the hazards of married life about which no one ever warns you. Because, really, who would ever believe it?
* MotH = Man of the House
