I like to think of myself as a kind hearted and sharing person. It’s a nice cosy image and one that I’m rather fond of.
I also like to think that marriage is about being understanding, sharing and not letting petty material issues intrude into one of life’s longest and most precious bonds.
Which is all well and good, until I notice that my wife has taken ‘my’ glass from its rightful place in the kitchen into the bedroom.
This glass is exactly, one hundred per cent the same as all the other glasses in the cupboard, but today it’s mine. No one else should touch, move it, let alone drink from it, because now it is mine.
Why should I care if my wife drinks from the same glass as me? We’ve been together for over twelve years, regularly sharing bodily fluids of multiple descriptions and I haven’t keeled over and died from any of them yet.
I know why – because that glass is mine.
Glasses...my precious
So when she does have the nerve, the downright disrespect to pick up this glass – which is essentially exactly the same as all the others – and move it into another room, a distance of some five meters or so, what happens to me (the kind hearted, sharing, non materialistic person I described so beautifully earlier)?
I think ‘where the f*^k is my glass, I bet she’s taken it again’. Irritated, agitated and deeply opinionated, I stomp into the bedroom.
When I locate the glass in the adjoining bathroom (wasting at least 20 seconds looking for it in the bedroom) there’s two things that are fighting for dominance in my understanding, sharing and non-petty mind
Firstly, there’s the agitation, only this time it’s more acute – ‘she’s put it in the f^%king bathroom again! She’s already got two of her own f&$king glasses here already’
Secondly, there’s a strange feeling of satisfaction, of being secretly pleased with myself that I was right – ‘I knew it, every time says she won’t do it again, but she always does. I never do that, I have one glass, my glass and stick to that’.
Now, if she happens to be out, I will stew in my own self imposed vexation for a while.
I’m annoyed that I had to walk all the way to the bathroom and more annoyed that she took ‘my’ glass.
I will then make a mental note to bring it up with her, gently and subtly of course, later on.
At the same time, a few millimetres under the surface of my mind I’m playing out the true nature of the reprimand, imagining the small print of the condescending lecture…
‘I told you you’d do it again, it’s not the point that there more glasses in the cupboard, if you leave it there it’ll get smashed one day, I never do things like etc etc’.
If, on the other hand, she is in the house, then the lectures and admonishment will start right away.
How will she react to these criticisms, so worthy and relevant to me, though completely unexpected, unwarranted and unwanted to her? Will she accept the dubious legitimacy of my claims, feeling forever sorry to have committed such a heinous crime?
The bookmakers would favour a response filled with some cross words and criticisms of her own. When backed into a corner she, like most people, will fight. She will fight fire with fire, hitting back at me for something I do that she doesn’t like, or something that I don’t do that she would like.
And then a perfectly futile and needless argument will follow.
Eventually this will subside and I will go back to doing whatever it was I was doing in the first place, but feeling a lot worse for my troubles. How much worse will depend on the scale of the argument that followed the initial glass taking misdemeanour.
I will also have the pleasure of knowing that I’ve made my wife feel a lot worse than before too – for, let us remember, no apparent reason.
Plus I will be no further down the road of the task that I was meant to be getting on with.
So by loving my glass I will have achieved 3 things…
Made my day less enjoyable
Made my wife’s day less enjoyable
Made my day less productive
And the mad thing is, I will probably blame my wife for all three of them.
Now let’s see, is my vision blurred, impaired or corrupted?
Then maybe I do need my glasses – the kind that will make me see clearly, not the kind to drink out of ;-)
I also like to think that marriage is about being understanding, sharing and not letting petty material issues intrude into one of life’s longest and most precious bonds.
Which is all well and good, until I notice that my wife has taken ‘my’ glass from its rightful place in the kitchen into the bedroom.
This glass is exactly, one hundred per cent the same as all the other glasses in the cupboard, but today it’s mine. No one else should touch, move it, let alone drink from it, because now it is mine.
Why should I care if my wife drinks from the same glass as me? We’ve been together for over twelve years, regularly sharing bodily fluids of multiple descriptions and I haven’t keeled over and died from any of them yet.
I know why – because that glass is mine.
Glasses...my precious
So when she does have the nerve, the downright disrespect to pick up this glass – which is essentially exactly the same as all the others – and move it into another room, a distance of some five meters or so, what happens to me (the kind hearted, sharing, non materialistic person I described so beautifully earlier)?
I think ‘where the f*^k is my glass, I bet she’s taken it again’. Irritated, agitated and deeply opinionated, I stomp into the bedroom.
When I locate the glass in the adjoining bathroom (wasting at least 20 seconds looking for it in the bedroom) there’s two things that are fighting for dominance in my understanding, sharing and non-petty mind
Firstly, there’s the agitation, only this time it’s more acute – ‘she’s put it in the f^%king bathroom again! She’s already got two of her own f&$king glasses here already’
Secondly, there’s a strange feeling of satisfaction, of being secretly pleased with myself that I was right – ‘I knew it, every time says she won’t do it again, but she always does. I never do that, I have one glass, my glass and stick to that’.
Now, if she happens to be out, I will stew in my own self imposed vexation for a while.
I’m annoyed that I had to walk all the way to the bathroom and more annoyed that she took ‘my’ glass.
I will then make a mental note to bring it up with her, gently and subtly of course, later on.
At the same time, a few millimetres under the surface of my mind I’m playing out the true nature of the reprimand, imagining the small print of the condescending lecture…
‘I told you you’d do it again, it’s not the point that there more glasses in the cupboard, if you leave it there it’ll get smashed one day, I never do things like etc etc’.
If, on the other hand, she is in the house, then the lectures and admonishment will start right away.
How will she react to these criticisms, so worthy and relevant to me, though completely unexpected, unwarranted and unwanted to her? Will she accept the dubious legitimacy of my claims, feeling forever sorry to have committed such a heinous crime?
The bookmakers would favour a response filled with some cross words and criticisms of her own. When backed into a corner she, like most people, will fight. She will fight fire with fire, hitting back at me for something I do that she doesn’t like, or something that I don’t do that she would like.
And then a perfectly futile and needless argument will follow.
Eventually this will subside and I will go back to doing whatever it was I was doing in the first place, but feeling a lot worse for my troubles. How much worse will depend on the scale of the argument that followed the initial glass taking misdemeanour.
I will also have the pleasure of knowing that I’ve made my wife feel a lot worse than before too – for, let us remember, no apparent reason.
Plus I will be no further down the road of the task that I was meant to be getting on with.
So by loving my glass I will have achieved 3 things…
Made my day less enjoyable
Made my wife’s day less enjoyable
Made my day less productive
And the mad thing is, I will probably blame my wife for all three of them.
Now let’s see, is my vision blurred, impaired or corrupted?
Then maybe I do need my glasses – the kind that will make me see clearly, not the kind to drink out of ;-)
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