When my parents told me marriage is a negotiation of sorts, I thought they meant I had to learn to share as I’d never shared before. They kind of did. But I never imagined they suggested I’d have to learn to speak Husband. That strange language of the coupled gent, the shed dweller. The beard grower and the mower of the lawn and doer of the washing. I often wonder if this strange species of man even speak English at all. And I don’t just mean the grunts that are supposed to be yeses.


He says, babe, I want your opinion, but he’s already made up his mind.

He says he’d like a boat. And maybe another trailer. Oh yeah, and a drill thingie-ma-bob too.

He says things about blade levels and cutting heights and other such things.

He says that my pants are fine. But maybe a little tight because I couldn’t squat in those. {!}

He says that he doesn’t care and I should decide.


There are a diverse range of random thoughts and things he says that make me question if I heard them right in the first place. Examples are hard to come by, like proving to someone there’s a thumping noise in your car that disappears every time someone else rides along. The understanding of the Husband language takes time to interpret. For some time, I questioned the almost carelessness. I raged against the lack of care and concern.


Then we grew up a little together.


It turns out my Hubby is about as laid back as you can get. And he cares. He cares so deeply when it matters. I just had to learn to speak his language. It’s a whole world of miscommunications waiting to happen in this marriage business. I find myself stumbling over them on an almost daily basis. For example, I forgot that I didn’t actually want his opinion on the fit of my jeans, and I asked him. I’m never happy with the response. I want to go to war. Then I remind myself, I asked.

I worry that a day will come when these miscommunication’s start to diminish what we have. It seems almost inevitable. But of course, it isn’t. But I can see how it happens. How just one too many times of they’re a bit firm, aren’t they? {not saying, geez, you’re fat} Did you start dinner? {not saying, it’s your job, woman get in the kitchen} Where are my socks? {not saying, washing, also your job}. I can see how this might push a girl over the edge. I hope when that day comes that I remember, he speaks another language.


And that he doesn’t understand me either. Haha.

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