Dudes, females remember every detail of every conversation they’ve ever had with their significant other. Mostly this works to our advantage because few men possess this skill. When a discussion is not coming out in our favor, we can bring up that one time you inadvertently insulted us (in 1998) and even work up a few tears. You don’t remember, we cry harder. You cave. Match point: female.
We can also claim to remember conversations that never took place (Not that I would ever do this. Uh. Yeah.). A friend of mine uses this one when she spends too much money. She insistes they discussed the purchase and even claims she was initally against spending money, but he was adamant about making the purchase. She gets a bit mad that he can’t remember the conversation and wonders aloud if he ever really listens to her. He has no leg to stand on because he really does tune her out a lot. Eventually he gives up and agrees that he was right to insist they replace the _____________ fill in the blank, because he never liked the old one.
I too have a photographic conversational memory, but I ‘ve had a few conversations with Tony that I would rather forget. On occasion, I say ridiculous or irrational things. I know you find this shocking, dear reader, because you have come to see me as a pillar of logic and practicality. One who always chooses her words carefully and gives measured responses even during the most heated discussion….. Oh, hell who am I kidding?
One such conversation occurred over a year ago, but has been brough to mind recently. Let’s start with a little exposition to explain why this conversation has been on my mind.
For over six years, Tony had a job that involoved frequent travel. When Tony came home after a trip, he would leave his suitcase in the laundry room and promptly forget about it. This created one of two chores for me: either I had to unpack his suitcase for him and wheel it into our bedroom, or I had to scramble to do his laundry on Sunday night because he wanted to re-pack the clothes that were still dirty in his suitcase. Both of these chores pissed me off, but unpacking his suitcase for him was the lesser of two evils.
Then Tony got laid off. It sucked, it was stressful, yadda yadda yadda. But he wasn’t traveling and I didn’t have to unpack someone else’s suitcase or scramble to do laundry for five months.
Tony now has a new job and is back to the heavy travel. After his first trip, I kindly asked him to unpack his suitcase so I could get his laundry caught up. He didn’t & I had to do a laundry scramble. After his second trip, I unpacked it myself. He is now on his third trip. I’m thinking of dumping his laundry, suitcase and several other random items in the detention pond by our house if he doesn’t unpack his own damn suitcase before Sunday night.
Now that you are caught up, let’s travel back in time one year ago…
Jennifer is beautifully flushed with anger because she has just unpacked her husband’s suitcase and is stuck doing laundry on a Sunday night. Despite her irritation, she remains a paragon of domestic serenity and wifely bliss. She wheels the suitcase into the bedroom where her husband is waiting to begin packing what he can. He hauls the suitcase onto the bed and fumbles around for the zipper pull. He locates it at the bottom of the suitcase and says, “It’s considered common curtesy to place zipper pulls at the top of a suitcase.” Jennifer snaps. Pictures of bloody axes and shallow graves appear behind her eyes. She takes a breath and then yells, “NO! Putting the zipper pulls at the top of the suitcase is common sense. Common courtesy is a grown man unpacking his own damn suitcase. And yes I know I just implied I don’t have any common sense, but that’s not the point so just SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Then I started to cry and brought up that time in 1998 when he told me he didn’t like my hair. He backed out of the room slowly and slept with a knife under his pillow for a few weeks.