My husband had never bought me a Valentine’s gift before, but on one memorable Valentine’s Day, he walked in with the biggest display of flowers I had ever seen — think of something out of a fancy hotel foyer.
I was stunned and was busy stuttering my thanks when he opened up his big, fat gob.
Husband: “Oh, I didn’t buy these. They were throwing them out at the job I was on and I thought you might like them.”
Nope. Not a romantic bone in that man’s body.
When I was in high school, I worked at a pool store selling pools, spas, and chemicals. It was owned by a married couple that, to put it nicely, needed couples therapy. They would fight frequently and both had a temper.
One day, they were both at the store in the back warehouse screaming at one another about something or other. In walked a regular customer. This was one of the customers that would come in from time to time just to talk to one of the owners, and not about actual pool-related topics.
I greeted the regular with the usual spiel.
Me: “Hello, how are you today?”
Regular: “I need to talk to [Owner].”
I was kind of panicking, and I resorted to the classic telemarketer-on-the-phone lie.
Me: “I’m sorry, but [Owner] isn’t here right now.”
Regular: “I know he’s here; his truck is out front.”
Now I figured there was no other way of handling this with grace. I put my finger up to my mouth in a shushing motion.
Regular: “What do you mean?”
I kept my finger to my mouth and actually verbally said, “Shuuuush.” The regular customer stopped talking for a moment and heard them screaming at each other from the back warehouse.
Regular: “Oh.”
Me: *Lowering my finger* “Yeah. You’re welcome to go interrupt them if you like, but I’m not paid enough for that.” *Shrugs and chuckles awkwardly*
Regular: “I think I’ll just come back later.”
Me: “Sounds good!”
My husband is the kind of person who will come home with something that includes instructions — a toy, an appliance, an electric tool, anything — open up the box, pull out the manual, and immediately throw it over his shoulder before trying to make sense of the purchase with nothing but his intuition.
I’ve gotten into the habit of collecting the discarded instructions, taking a seat in the room, and reading through them as he starts working on it himself, watching as he struggles to make use of it, and keeping track of the progress through the manual to match how far he’s made it after much trial and error.
Husband: “Why do they make these things so difficult?”
Outcome A, with about 3% likelihood: he renders his new purchase completely unusable by breaking an important part or doing something in the wrong order, requiring him to get a new one at a later date. In the latter case, if I see it happening in time, I’ll try to stop him.
Outcome B, with about 25% likelihood: he manages to make it work. It takes a lot longer than it SHOULD, but he gets there.
Outcome C, the rest of the time: he puts his new purchase down before he ruins anything, and says:
Husband: “Guess I’m going to have to read the manual.”
Whereupon I will hand him the manual, point out where he’s gotten so far, and watch him progress much more smoothly.
I have been an assistant manager for quite a few years now and I used to ask customers, “Delivery? Okay, is it going to [Address]?”
Then, this woman called.
Me: “Is this going to [Address] [Motel]?”
This woman flipped her lid!
Woman: “Why would it be going there? The last delivery went to [Motel]? [HUSBAND]! What the f*** were you doing at a motel?!”
She hung up on me.
Now I say, “And what’s the address you would like that delivered to?”
I’m married to a big ol’ cowboy. When I was in labor with our child, the only time we were separated was when they took him to get into scrubs. He’s such a big farm boy that none of the scrubs fit him. He ended up wearing the largest painter suit they could find. When he walked in, I burst into laughter.
Me: “You look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters!”
Twenty-six years later, it’s my go-to memory in stressful situations.
