Hokey Pokey (What this blog's all about)

A writing challenge I've given myself to write every day for six months. After some posts, I'll put in a comment with a brief explanation of the inspiration for the piece. Some posts will be practice for bigger projects: character sketches or settings. I don't really know what all will happen which is why I'm doing it.

Monday, May 21, 2012

Day 49

I am terrible at shutting up.  I rarely do it.  I'd make an awful angler.  Much better wrangler.  Also because my butt looks good in jeans.  Honestly, almost everyone's butt looks good in the right pair of jeans.  But I digress.

While the bride was unwrapping a gift with wooden spoons on a package at a bridal shower recently, (people had joked about how many children the bride would have,)  I commented that she would need all the wooden spoons to spank ten or so kids.  If it wasn't bad enough, I then told the room that I used to work in childwelfare.  I can tell stories like this about idiot-comments I've made all day.

My husband, on the other hand, is excellent at keeping his mouth shut.  He has never once made a comment that could even in the most warped hands, be twisted into alluding to me somehow being fat.  I look beautiful or great in everything I try on.  He stays quiet when I'm ranting.  He stays quiet when I complain about work (or being unemployed.)  He stays quiet when I'm sad.  He's just good at being quietly present.  What a jerk.

Since I do everything really fast and all at once, his habit of taking his time, being all zen about shit, and doing only one thing at a time, sometimes drives me crazy.  Other times, I'm envious.  Still more, it makes me get quiet as I imagine the luxurious feeling of calming down and taking your time to dig a hole and place one tiny seed inside, then fill it up, never thinking of how many seeds or what else I might get done at the same time.

Everything in his physical life is cluttered.  His closet looks like a teenager could have hid a bong in there that you'd never find because of the tons of clothing heaped on top of more tons of clothing.  Who has time or needs to fold clothes much less hang them up?  And don't ever look in my garage.  I swear my car used to fit in there.

But I imagine his mind is a clear place where he is able to disregard unimportant things the rest of us fixate on like possessions and simply think of an idea.  Let a tune play out.  Until another comes along.  And then you play it instead.

He's a beautifully infuriating person.

1 comment:

  1. I had to write about something irritating or a foible for grad school. I'll probably post the assignment at some point but this was more my reaction after writing a more sarcastic piece for school. I like the things I don't like about my husband.