For more hilarious humor on married life from Leslie Blanchard, find her at agingersnapped.com. This post was originally featured there.
I’m always shocked when people say, “you can’t change your spouse…” Preposterous. Of course you can change your spouse! If you’ve played house with the same person for 30 years or more and haven’t managed to change them – you’re not doing it right. You might even be a slacker.
Take a look at my marriage for example. My family of origin is very LOUD. Simply put, we love the sound of ourselves. So naturally (per the time-honored principle of pairing with opposites) I married a quiet man. But over the course of 30+ years, I’ve unintentionally converted him into a veritable noise machine.
Recently I was watching a home-video with my kids from way back when they were babies (circa 1996). About 45 minutes into the video, my young hubby deigns to utter a brief comment and the camera quickly pans over to him. But he was done. That quiet remark was all he had. Shocked, my children inquired if their dad had been in the room the entire time. It was a video of Christmas morning. So yes, of course he had. That’s just who he was back then. Quiet and reserved.
But the chance of being in the vicinity of this guy NOW for more than a minute and not be dominated by his imposing presence is unlikely. He is a force.
It’s really noticeable if he gets a song stuck in his head. When that happens, it’s going to be YOUR song for the day as well. I’m not talking about something subtle like The Vulcan Mind-Meld from Star Trek. I’m talking about something far more insidious, a full-on bombardment…
Yesterday’s song du jour (for no discernible reason) was Bruce Springsteen’s, “Born To Run.” That tune and its metaphorical message of desperation, rebellion and youthful empowerment assaulted my psyche for the better part of 24 hours.
He. sang. it. all. day. long.
He claims he’s only “into” the instrumental part of the music and I’m way too bound up in the meaning behind lyrics. But that didn’t cut down on the number of times I was cordially invited to strap myself “round his engines.” Maybe he’s right, and I am overly invested in lyrics, but by midday I had my fill of analyzing my husband’s runaway American dreams.
When he wasn’t singing it, he was whistling it. Piercingly proud. Whistling’s his jam – he could win a Grammy for it. This particular song inspires a truly ferocious whistle riff – it’s low, it’s high, it dips and crescendos. It’s the ideal melody for showcasing one’s remarkably vast whistling range.
And then, just to keep things flex, he switches over to the “neer-neer-neer.” This is the savage sound a male human-being makes when he’s synthesizing his imaginary electric guitar.
ONE TWO THREE FOUR!
NEER… (pause) neer, neer, neer, neer (pause) NEER, NEER!
Truthfully, it didn’t really annoy me all that much yesterday. After all, when one’s spouse is singing, whistling or neer-neer-neering, they’re happy right? And who doesn’t want their very own spouse to be happy?
But early this morning, he entered the room to ask me if I needed anything from Lowe’s – when I said, “No thanks!” he belted out “tramps like us!” Like it was our Couple Anthem. It was just so overwhelmingly yesterday.
I know it’s entirely my fault that my husband is so in-your-facey now. Obviously, I rubbed off on him through the years and have no one but myself to blame. But still… this tramp was thinking, “different day – different song.” I’m even willing to time travel back to last weekend when, for a relentless 24 hours, he wore me out by latching on to a twangy rendition of a Marshall Tucker Band favorite.
“I ain’t never been with a woman long enough for my songs to get old…”
You’re almost there, Big Guy. You’re almost there.