Friday, February 26, 2010

Fluid Dynamics



When I met Jeremy, I was impressed by how serious he was. I imagined he thought I was a silly little girl (and I was). I remember running (yes, running) through the halls of the Institute of Religion, giggling with my gaggle of friends ("tee hee hee!"), causing havoc and generally annoying the more proper students (apparently there is a limit to the sounds you can make in a library before some poor, beleaguered, sleep-deprived college student will explode in anger and get you kicked out of said library.).




It wasn't until we were safely married that Jeremy relaxed and I realized I had married a male version of me. Whoa.




It's probably a good thing. We were so enamoured with our Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum-ness that we kept each other out of trouble.




After some time had passed (you know, the time after feeling all googly inside because you are married?), I started to experiment with my relationship with Jeremy. Nothing malicious, mind you. I was just feeling out our relationship. And that usually involved me crying and expecting him to know why I was crying and how to stop me from crying ever after. I discovered quickly that that particular branch of communication wasn't productive and put it to a stop.




One of the things that attracted me to Jeremy was his sweet disposition. Under the definition of "Nice" in the dictionary there is a picture of Jeremy, and it says, "Nice: All things Jeremy. Example: 'That girl is so Jeremy. She just folded all of the laundry without being asked.'"




So, I would often get my way with Jeremy, whether it was right or not. All I had to do was pout, and Jeremy would smile (or sigh...he does this a lot still), and I would get what I wanted.



There is such a thing as going too far though. At one point Jeremy, after much pouting obstinance on my part, did what I wanted. It resulted in a Subway sandwich and a look.




I was being particularly bratty that day, and for those of you who know Jeremy, you know it takes A LOT to make him slightly annoyed. He's one of those types that screams really loud in frustration for .01 seconds in his head and then is fine again. It's fun to watch.




Anyway, as time passed, and my charms started to grow annoying, Jeremy started to exert his will.

What?!




I'll show him...



You see, Jeremy made the mistake of telling me what Dad said when Jeremy asked permission to marry me:

"Keep the women happy," Dad said, no doubt putting his hands squarely on Jeremy's shoulders, and staring into his eyes, trying to communicate telepathically that I was no longer his problem, but Jeremy's, and if anything went wrong, it was Jeremy's job to fix it and, no, he would never take me back, no matter how annoying I got.



He then shoved Jeremy out of his office, slammed the door, dusted his hands off, and cackled with glee that he had finally gotten rid of the last of his offspring, but the giggle was cut short when he realized that he wouldn't be able to claim me as an exemption on his taxes anymore.




Anyway, I latched onto the idea of keeping the women happy. Me. Make ME happy.




HA HA HA!



Yeah, well, you can only do that for so long.




Jeremy started using his infamous distraction tactic. It goes something like this:

"Jeremy," I would bat my eyes. "I think X is a good idea.




"Gee, I dunno," he would reply, no doubt weighing the pros and cons, and the subsequent impact it would make on mankind.




"But, I think X is a good idea!"




He would then stare at me, and I would stare back, my stare of course accentuated by a theatrical teariness.




"Hey, I was talking to my mom, and she was wondering if you wanted to go to the mall with her?"

"Oh, that sounds like fu...HEY! Stop trying to distract me!"




Recently, Jeremy got his heart set on buying an '86 Trans Am. Yeah, I don't understand it either. I have learned over years of trial and error that the best way to talk about things is in a respectful way, and I gently tried to let him down by telling him that a Trans Am is in no way economical, doable, practical, or any other -cal or -able.

Jeremy persisted. It was an odd sensation. I was so used to the, "LOOK, DARA! There's a shiny thing over there!" way of dealing with things. We battled it out for a few days, weighing the pros and cons and how it would effect the overall good of mankind. And I gave in. It wasn't until I did that Jeremy decided that the Trans Am wasn't the way to go. He then decided he wanted a VW Passat. It filled the required -cals and -ables so I said I supported him in his decision.




In retrospect, I kinda wonder if that was his plan all along.... It was an elaborate distraction.




I guess I had it coming.

Often when I want something I ask him what he thinks, and he almost always says he is okay with it (this works best when we are at the mall shopping). After a while, I started noticing a trend, and asked, "How come you never say 'no' to me?"

He looked at me, amused, and said, "Because some day I am going to ask for something REALLY BIG, and you won't be able to say 'no.'"




I guess we're even.

2 comments:

Trillium said...

Psychology is in our genes.

Katscratchme said...

I have a hard time saying no to Ben when he wants something at the store. I'm usually really strict with myself, though. I'll go years before I buy something I needed ages ago.
Right now I'm postponing clothes shopping until I lose the cellulite baby on my hips.

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