HOME | POLITICS | SPORTS | LIFE | SCI/TECH | OPEDS | HELPFUL TIPS
|
Sept. 19, 2004 It should come as no surprise that, while husbands and wives, technically speak the same language, they are, in reality, speaking two totally different ones. How has this been ascertained? Having done exhaustive research on the subject but coming to no concrete answer for this phenomenon, the language authorities have finally decided to go to the real experts. In short, they just decided to ask husbands and wives what they hear when their spouse speaks to them. It seems that there is a big difference between what one says and the other hears. If they had asked me in the first place, I could have saved them a lot of time and research money. Once married, I think people develop selective hearing. They hear exactly what they want to hear or, as its more commonly called the, “I-know-what-you really-meant-to-say syndrome.” My husband Alan suffers from it and so do I. Here are a few scenes of how it goes in our house. Scene one: He is sitting in the living room relaxing, channel-surfing. I glance at the TV and see a commercial which reminds me of something we have to discuss. I say: “Honey? Can we sit down and talk later? It’s important.” He hears: “You are in big trouble for some idiotic thing you did and I have to tell you how I feel. I will talk for hours and you will probably miss that important game on TV but if you love me, you’ll sit down and listen to what I have to say.” That I only wanted to talk about where he wants to go sightseeing on our vacation never enters his mind. He tries hard not to be available later, pretending he has “all this yard work” that absolutely can’t wait. (“My God, honey, the yard looks like hell! What will the neighbors think?”) He’ll then suggest we talk tomorrow which I will interpret as his not really wanting to go on the vacation we had planned. (And I don’t really care what the neighbors think. Let’em take care of their own yards!) See how it works? Scene two: My esophagus has been killing me because of the jalopeño peppers we had for dinner two nights ago. I have spent two days popping antacids and upchucking everything I ate for the last forty- eight hours. On the third day I am feeling better and we are taking a ride. I notice a banner advertising a soon-to-be-held local feast and I mention it to him in passing. He says: “You just got over being really sick! Now you’re thinking of eating greasy food again?” I hear: “You don’t need to eat fattening foods if you actually want to fit into that slinky dress you bought for that wedding next month.” “I don’t eat greasy foods,” I say. “What about the sausage and pepper sandwiches you always get at the feasts?” “You get them,” I point out. “I only take a bite if I want one.” “Well, okay, but a bite’s a bite,” He says. “Remember your stomach.” “You think I look fat? You think my stomach’s fat?” “No, of course not! Did I say the word “fat?” “You implied it!” “Wait a minute, did you actually hear me say the words “fat” and “stomach” together?” “Well, no, but ..” “You’re assuming.” I make a mental note to check out the South Beach diet tomorrow. Greasy food, my foot! Scene three: I come into the kitchen and find that one of the cats has found a cricket in the basement and lovingly deposited on the counter as a present for me. I assume it is no longer a live cricket and go to brush it into a paper towel for outside disposable. It suddenly jumps! I scream and Alan comes running downstairs from our bedroom. “What’s the matter? What happened?” “That,” I say pointing at the prancing bug. “That? It’s a cricket, for God’s sake. You screamed over a cricket? I almost broke my leg running downstairs for a cricket?” “Can you put it outside for me, please?” He picks it up gingerly and, to my eyes, grudgingly. He says: “Jeez it’s only a cricket. C’mon Jiminy, let’s not frighten the lady now.” I hear: I don’t care if this bug frightens you to death. I will no longer slay your dragons, my lady! (or put creepy, crawly, long-legged bugs outside for you!) Scene four: He has a miserable cold and a fever. I make him chicken soup and bring him bowl after bowl along with glasses of ginger ale. I keep the stereo on low and turn off the phone in the bedroom. I have been up and down the stairs all day at his slightest whim. At seven o’clock I go to veg-out by watching Jeopardy in the family room so as not to disturb him. He calls down the stairs and asks where I am. I say: “I’m watching Jeopardy, honey. I’ll be upstairs in a few minutes.” He hears: “Please! Give me a break already! Stop being such a big baby, it’s only a cold.” See? Selective hearing. But there are occasions when even those of us with this hearing problem hear things that are meant but not necessarily said. He runs in to buy milk and comes out with two chocolate covered cherries, one for him, one for me because he knows how much I like them. He says: “Here, baby,” as he unwraps one for me. I hear: “I love you.” I sit and watch an entire Yankee game with him and ask questions that are pertinent to the game because I know he wants to share his love of baseball. I say, as Mariano Rivera comes through once again: “Boy he is the absolute best closer in baseball history, isn’t he honey!” He hears: “I love you.” Sometimes the person with the I-know-what-you-really-meant-to-say syndrome really does know what their spouse meant to say. ------------ About the author Kristen Houghton: Working on a book of short stories, I write a column, "The Writer's Block" on observations of everyday life and a column for educators called iTeach! Email: Krisnalan@aol.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
||||||
|
|
|||||||
|
