Jen and I celebrated our anniversary this week.
Frankly, this marriage shouldn’t exist. We met in an Internet chat room 16 years ago. She was in a chat café in a small city in the Philippines and I was tapping keys from a small town in America 9,000 miles away.
Nevertheless, we met, wed, assembled a family and beat some long odds to remain together. With 15 consecutive years of marriage under my belt, I can say I’ve observed some differences between how men and women see the world around them. In no particular order, here are a few observations that are probably more universal than I initially surmised.
Repainting the front door
Wife’s take: The adequate amount of time to strip hideous salmon-colored paint off a previously wood-stained front door, then sand, prime and repaint door, including EKG monitoring, is 7-9 hours.
Husband’s take: Slathering coat after coat of toxic gelatinous paint stripper onto door while holding brush in one hand and beer in the other takes time. Allow gel to age properly for 3-5 weeks. Scrape random swaths of curled paint with a putty knife and or spatula. When the door refuses to get completely naked, blame the chemicals and tools for being ineffective. Over the course of the next month or two, make half-hearted attempts at door stripping with sandpaper, wire brushes and waving fistfuls of dollar bills.
Blame the frigid July temperatures for the wood door not being porous enough to absorb the primer. Then blame the stain for not being painty and the paint for not being stainy. At the onset of Month 3 of horrified stares from neighbors, declare to wife, “This is clearly a defective door. Let’s just watch Facebook’s Marketplace for a used replacement door this exact size. We should find one by December, the ideal month for replacing front doors.”
Mowing the lawn
This side of cruising to and fro over the yard in an inverted helicopter, mowing the lawn is generally a drag. Under normal climate conditions, the grass is cut once a week in spring and less frequently at the tail end of the summer.
Wife’s take: Husband should mow at least 24 hours prior to the weekend barbecue attended by family and friends plagued by various lawn-based allergies.
Husband’s take: Because lawn-mowing requires substantial motivation, it’s best to wait for ideal conditions that include the right air temperature, barometric pressure, lawn tractor tire pressure accounting for operator’s obesity. Therefore, grass cutting shall be conducted 24 days before the barbecue or 24 days after. Pick one.
Xmas shopping
Wife’s take: Purchasing the ideal gift for any family member worthy of a gift takes effort. Effort few men possess. For the wife, shopping commences around Labor Day. Whether it’s online purchases or at the good old local retail establishment, shopping needs to begin 100 days before Christmas.
Husband’s take: Sure, you can wait — like I do — until Dec. 22 for an Amazon van to collide with your garage and litter your lawn with free gifts destined for re-gifting. But if that’s too early in the holiday season to prioritize gift-buying, we husbands can always flock to Market Basket for a handful of gift cards.
Emptying cat litter box
Wife’s take: Three round trips each for sisters Charlotte and Snowball and the stank detectors are short-circuiting. Accordingly, the missus is advocating hard for a change of litter. So six trips to the feline lavatory and it’s time for change.
Husband’s take: Being the most unpleasant of the chores, cat litter duty is postponed until: A. The cats picket outside the cat litter box; B. The cat litter bag requires two people to lift; C. Your SCUBA air tanks are depleted. Timeline is 2 to 2.5 weeks between changes.
Refueling the vehicle
Wife’s take: Use the final gallon in the tank to search for a gas station.
Husband’s take: When the gauge reads between half and three-quarters, it’s time for a refill.
Taking out the trash
Wife’s take: When the bag is two-thirds full, it’s time to relatively easily uncouple the garbage bag from the trash receptacle it hangs out in. That should occur twice a week.
Husband’s take: Protrashinating is the art of delaying the removal of rubbish for as long as possible. When the canister is 127% full, hoist the bag from its cradle and mash the contents down with hands, feet or a broom. Do this daily for two weeks before dragging a bargeful of trash across the kitchen floor and out the door for its next journey. See also “Emptying cat litter box”
Christmas decorating
Wife’s take: Nothing celebrates Jesus’ birthday like 2-story inflatable Grinch characters. And LED lights. Jesus loved the vibrance and longevity of LED Christmas lights, so the more visible your lit home is from heaven, the more high-5’s you’ll share when you meet Him.
A minimum of one Christmas tree, three wreaths, garland, kissing balls, strings of lights totaling 1.8 miles, a truckload of ornaments, dancing Santas — all under the supervision of Peppermint the elusive Elf-on-a-Shelf — are scheduled to arrive minutes after the Thanksgiving meal has been loaded into Ziplock bags.
Husband’s take: Wrapping strings of lights around trees, gutters, eaves and staircases takes time. Hanging ornaments and draping tinsel take time. Inflating Grinch & Friends takes time. Time that could be spent watching football. For two decades we Patriots fans would decorate to honor the three wise men — Bill Belichick, offensive coordinator Josh McDaniels and defensive coordinator Matt Patricia — as well as St. Thomas of GOATsville.
These days, we’re more inclined to agree with the wife’s take and spend football Sunday coiling lights around evergreens.
Selfies
Wife’s take: Snapping photos and videos of ourselves conquering monumental tasks like stirring soup or driving to a restaurant is essential for proper family archiving. Photos taken from every angle with various special effects and lighting conditions are daily requirements.
Husband’s take: One selfie per month sounds just about right.
Managing and accepting differences is just another component of life, I suppose. Get past the differences and life is smooth sailing.
At least that’s what I’m telling myself repeatedly on the way to Walmart’s mid-October Christmas ornament sale.
