And this isn't even his birthday post
I've been watching The West Wing on Amazon Prime, like the rest of Twitter. I really liked that show, but I haven't seen the early seasons and it's fun to have it be entirely new again. And the toepick girl is in it! She's terrible! Well, I think it's more her lame/boring/annoying character than HER, but it doesn't surprise me that she was gone by the time I started watching.
ANYWAY. The last episode I saw, Josh Lyman gives Donna Moss a rare book for Christmas (this, after she gave him a list requesting ski gear) so she's all WHATEVER, DUDE. Except he writes a Sweet Personal Message in it and everyone swoons - not that we are privy to the sweet personal message, but we know it's sweet because DONNA is swooning and we love Donna SO.
I was watching on the Kindle in bed, Phillip was reading on the iPad. When the show was over I batted the iPad out of my husband's hands and you know what came next: "How come you never write ME any MEANINGFUL MESSAGES?!"
Because, well, HE DOESN'T. Sob. I married an IT Professional, not a writer or a poet or an artist. He has an excellent ear, he plays forty-seven different instruments, the man can SIGHT SING, but lyrics are not his strong suit. I have longed for a love letter these past dozen years, but the only one I have I had to specifically request AND it is typed INCLUDING his signature.
I've saved all the ancient emails and letters he sent when he spent two summers in China, but we weren't dating then. I have some cute notes inside birthday cards. And those are NICE. I won't count them out. But he's just not going to be the guy who writes me a random just-to-say-I-love-you email or leave me a note in my suitcase or write me a letter on a sentimental occasion. And he will NEVER write me a poem. ALAS!
I accused him of this last night. "YOU HAVE NEVER WRITTEN ME A POEM!" Surprised, he sort of laid back and thought a moment, then he said, "Well, if I DID write you a poem, would it rhyme? You know, like A B A B? Or is it A B C B? I can't remember."
Then today, of course, I came upon all these blog posts, from mostly dutiful Catholic wives, who are warning against reading Certain Books and watching Certain Movies and comparing our husbands to these fictional men. (I honestly can't remember what they were, but I found the first link through Hallie's site. Bad blogger!) So I'm reading them and of course they're right and I was already thinking this myself BUT OKAY FINE THEN. I DID NOT MARRY JOSH LYMAN. I SHALL DEAL.
Anyway. I've sort of had enough of blog posts telling me to be a better person so I certainly won't do that HERE to YOU. Especially because I'm the sort of person who thinks I already know everything. "Well OF COURSE, Dutiful Churchy Blogger Lady, OF COURSE I shouldn't compare my real and messy life to the pretty shiny one on my television! I am not a DUMMY! And I know what I'm doing! Gah! Leave me alone!"
Except... MAN. I watch Donna open that book and see that handwritten note that I KNOW is like the yearbook message from the only boy you loved in high school and I instantly want that FEELING. And where else to focus my Ire on Not Having That Feeling except my poor caught-unawares husband?!
Poor Phillip. SERIOUSLY. It cannot be rainbows and sunshine living with ME. Last night I actually asked him what, if anything (ha ha), he felt was "missing" with ME and he actually ANSWERED: he wishes I were more compassionate when he's not feeling well. And you know what I did with that? I LAUGHED! HAAAAAA MORE COMPASSIONATE WITH A MAN COLD!
So. Clearly I am no prize in the wife department. Also I am sitting here typing this up while he clears the table and cleans up the kitchen. I am reasonably certain he will leave all sorts of dirty things on the counter and neglect to wipe up the stove, but still, HE IS CLEANING. I AM TYPING. (No one is watching the children, btw.)
I have married a guy who does not express himself via the written word. I probably won't die of this. He does, now that I'm thinking of it, give truly excellent foot rubs. He's the serving sort - cleaning, cooking, taking care of children so you can chat with your friends undisturbed. He works very hard. Probably because he is NOT a writer he does not get all dramatic and angsty and self-absorbed, like, EVER. No, he lets ME do all of that. He gets all of the gold stars for never ever saying, "But could you come home earlier?" or "I really don't want to put the kids to bed by myself" or "No, tonight's not a good night for you to go out." HE'S the one who told me I should spend 100s of our dollars on a week-long trip to St. Louis, so I can go pray with a bunch of strangers, while he stays home with the kids during his week of vacation, IMMEDIATELY AFTER I have already spent 100s of our dollars to go hang out in New Orleans with a bunch of internet people he's barely heard of. And here I am complaining about poems.
What he is doing while I am hiding in the corner with my laptop:
Gratuitous EJ photo: