Tuesday, January 21, 2014

Mind Reader

Being married nearly 20 years does something to a relationship. It becomes like a favorite pair of worn tennis shoes. After thousands of miles run, rain storms, sweaty feet, and the occasional dog doo they are broken in and each shoe knows a lot about the other and how it deals with life. 

The same goes for Buns and I. We've been up, down, and to hell in a hand basket and so there is an intuitive knowledge about the other and their status, it just manifests itself in different ways. Buns has the divine capability to notice when my eye twitch is reaching critical mass from stress and clears the air space around me. Granted this may be a self defense mechanism but nonetheless it works to bring balance back to the system. For me it works a bit differently.

For instance, when I have ruthlessly declared a ban on junk food in an attempt to get our family to be more healthy something amazing happens. Buns will be in a grocery store 30 miles from my office. He will drop a box of Twinkies into his basket. The molecules from that box crash into the molecules of the cart and a ripple is sent out into the universe. Sitting at my desk all those miles away my inner voice, who oddly sounds like Ewan McGregor will say "I feel a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of green beans suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened."

This ability translates to other things and as a result most of the time I believe I know what is going on without even being told. I can, in my own reality, read his mind a great deal of the time and because of this wrongly expect the same thing from him. Unfortunately, it doesn't always work so well.

A couple of months ago Buns had been doing some service work with the missionaries for a Sister in our branch. This service had required that he load a large quantity of his beloved power tools into the back of our SUV. Power tools are to Buns what cheese is to a quesadilla. They are a part of him, he cannot exist without them, they are his other children, and provide him answers to the great questions of the cosmos. 

Anyway, in his usual manly fashion of doing good and then not putting anything away the tools were still in the back of our conveyance on Sunday morning. The usual chaos of finding shoes, fixing hair, washing grubby faces and bemoaning the state of my teen sons white shirts was in full swing when Buns, looking quite dapper in his suit and tie walked out the door to go to early meetings. He of course took the other car.

One frantic hour later I herded my brood out the door and we raced off to church only 10 minutes late, a record I believe. On the way I could be heard grumbling under my breath about the load of tools clanging around the back every time we careened around a corner. 

Church was attended and as usual Buns had more business to see to after the meetings and so I once again headed the troops out the door for home by myself. In the foyer it was decided that we would give another member a ride home since she was on our way. This pleasant lady had a walker but no problem, our huge vehicle could certainly handle that.

Out in the parking lot as my children fought over the candy they had received in Primary and the sweet sister was maneuvered into the front seat, my oldest son and I tried vainly to wrestle the walker into the back of our transport. We moved power tools to one side and then another but no dice, the back hatch would not close. The twitch in my eye was nearing nuclear fission when I noticed the car my hubby had brought just a few parking stalls away. A light bulb went off in my head.

Oldest son and I unlocked the back of that car and unceremoniously dumped all the tools into the trunk. The walker was then neatly arranged in the back of our humble chariot and we were off without another thought. 

The following evening I stood in the kitchen bedecked in a Boise State apron cooking dinner when Buns walked through the door, he was pale and trembling. "Honey, what's the matter?" I asked. Just so you know Buns is not one for dramatics. I've seen him deal with death and severe pain rather nonchalantly so I knew something catastrophic had happened. He replied slowly, "Brenda my power tools have been stolen. I left them in the back of the Suburban and they are gone." 

I stood silent for a minute as the realization of what was going on dawned in my brain. Then I began to laugh uproariously. Buns looked at me in horrified disbelief and then relief as I breathlessly explained what I had done the day before. "Well then" said he "I had better go out and tell the officer what has happened." "I'm so sorry Buns! I just assumed you could read my mind like I read yours." I said wiping the tears from my eyes.  He looked at me with one raised eyebrow and stalked off towards the driveway to deliver the news.

Was there a lesson to be learned from all of this? I'm not sure. Maybe it is that husbands should put away their junk and it will save them a lot of heartache, calls to the police, and their wives a nervous tic. And wives, let's stop assuming our hubbies can read our minds, they can't. Communication is important and we should value what our husband values. If it is important to them we should respect that. And anyways you wouldn't want them in your head, they might find out Ewan McGregor is living in there.



Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...