When A Man Loves A Bitchy Woman
Poor Bee. I realized after my last online snitty-rant that I’m doing him a disservice. Why is it easier to complain about the ones we love than publicly praise them? (At least, it is for me.)
I suppose it’s true for a lot of things, though: we tend to only speak up about the things that irritate us. Otherwise, we’re so content that it doesn’t occur to us to say anything. Hence why the squeaky wheel gets oiled and why tortured artists are the most prolific.
Proof in my own life: looking back at my “work”, I think I wrote more thought-provoking things in my single days, when I was dissatisfied with my life. Now that I am satisfied, I only get online when I want to complain about the nit-picky things. Naturally, anyone reading this blog would assume I’m fed up with my life due to the sheer volume of snitty-rants in which I indulge.
Which means that I once again must vow to be more positive. Or, at least, occasionally positive.
That is why I want to take this opportunity to point out that, despite my many complaints, I’ve always felt that Bee is a better husband than I am a wife. He cooks, he tells me I’m pretty even when I haven’t shaved in a week, he tries to make me laugh, and he is much more accepting of my idiosyncrasies than I am of his. AND he doesn’t use the world wide web to vent about me, which is a bonus.
Another great thing about Bee is that he’s a fantastic father. His sense of whimsy and outlandish imagination are well-suited to a five-year-old, so Bee will come up with activities for Mr. C that would never occur to me. When Mr. C was a baby, for instance, one of his favorite games was “Burrito”, where Bee rolled him up in a sheet and then whipped him out of it; the videos we have of him squealing and saying “more” in baby sign-language are adorable. And now we have classic songs that Bee made up that we still sing nightly, like “Mr. Potato”; despite the fact the entire song is comprised of repeating “Mr. Potato / Miss Corn / Brother Broccoli / Uncle Rice” over and over, Bee has somehow managed to make it catchy and fun. (Which is nothing compared to “The Naked Song”: a musical opus whose sole lyric is “nakednakednaked”.)
And there are so many times Bee just wants to drop what he’s doing to play with Mr. C. And he’ll worry about missing the kid when I take Mr. C to run errands all day. And he’ll talk me into buying Mr. C a bed with a slide; a completely impractical but totally fun piece of furniture.
Not to mention that one of the biggest reasons Bee became self-employed years ago was so that he could spend more time raising S.B.
Do you ever feel a higher sense of self-worth because someone chooses you to confide in? It might seem silly, but I’m still often shocked that Bee will talk to me about his problems. I know I shouldn’t, since I’m his wife and all, but I suppose at those times I have to remind myself that I am his wife and not the silly, naïve girl I was 10 years ago. (Well, OK; I might still be silly . . . but only if you find romance novels and getting all of one’s news from Yahoo!’s headlines to be “silly”.) The point being: if someone you respect values your opinions enough to ask for your advice, you’ve got to be a little special, right?
Today, Bee spent 20 minutes with a fly swatter killing yellow jackets because he was horrified to see them attacking our bees.
Yesterday he stood guard with a hose to protect whichever chickens were being bullied by the others.
On numerous occasions, he’s apologized to the cats for having to move them off the couch.
I mean, honestly, what do I have to complain about?
I suppose it’s true for a lot of things, though: we tend to only speak up about the things that irritate us. Otherwise, we’re so content that it doesn’t occur to us to say anything. Hence why the squeaky wheel gets oiled and why tortured artists are the most prolific.
Proof in my own life: looking back at my “work”, I think I wrote more thought-provoking things in my single days, when I was dissatisfied with my life. Now that I am satisfied, I only get online when I want to complain about the nit-picky things. Naturally, anyone reading this blog would assume I’m fed up with my life due to the sheer volume of snitty-rants in which I indulge.
Which means that I once again must vow to be more positive. Or, at least, occasionally positive.
That is why I want to take this opportunity to point out that, despite my many complaints, I’ve always felt that Bee is a better husband than I am a wife. He cooks, he tells me I’m pretty even when I haven’t shaved in a week, he tries to make me laugh, and he is much more accepting of my idiosyncrasies than I am of his. AND he doesn’t use the world wide web to vent about me, which is a bonus.
Another great thing about Bee is that he’s a fantastic father. His sense of whimsy and outlandish imagination are well-suited to a five-year-old, so Bee will come up with activities for Mr. C that would never occur to me. When Mr. C was a baby, for instance, one of his favorite games was “Burrito”, where Bee rolled him up in a sheet and then whipped him out of it; the videos we have of him squealing and saying “more” in baby sign-language are adorable. And now we have classic songs that Bee made up that we still sing nightly, like “Mr. Potato”; despite the fact the entire song is comprised of repeating “Mr. Potato / Miss Corn / Brother Broccoli / Uncle Rice” over and over, Bee has somehow managed to make it catchy and fun. (Which is nothing compared to “The Naked Song”: a musical opus whose sole lyric is “nakednakednaked”.)
And there are so many times Bee just wants to drop what he’s doing to play with Mr. C. And he’ll worry about missing the kid when I take Mr. C to run errands all day. And he’ll talk me into buying Mr. C a bed with a slide; a completely impractical but totally fun piece of furniture.
Not to mention that one of the biggest reasons Bee became self-employed years ago was so that he could spend more time raising S.B.
Do you ever feel a higher sense of self-worth because someone chooses you to confide in? It might seem silly, but I’m still often shocked that Bee will talk to me about his problems. I know I shouldn’t, since I’m his wife and all, but I suppose at those times I have to remind myself that I am his wife and not the silly, naïve girl I was 10 years ago. (Well, OK; I might still be silly . . . but only if you find romance novels and getting all of one’s news from Yahoo!’s headlines to be “silly”.) The point being: if someone you respect values your opinions enough to ask for your advice, you’ve got to be a little special, right?
Today, Bee spent 20 minutes with a fly swatter killing yellow jackets because he was horrified to see them attacking our bees.
Yesterday he stood guard with a hose to protect whichever chickens were being bullied by the others.
On numerous occasions, he’s apologized to the cats for having to move them off the couch.
I mean, honestly, what do I have to complain about?
Comments
Post a Comment