I
often make fun of the differences between my wife and I. I’m not
so certain I do it all that well. But, I try.
And
the idea I’ve found to be true more often than not is that there
isn’t some man and woman flow through our differences. For the
most part they don’t fall into categories and stereotypes. It
isn’t man or woman, old or young, toilet seat up or down or any
other way of establishing opposition that you might care to create.
Just two people, in a relationship, living together, and encountering
differences.
This
morning the one that stuck out for me involved the butter dish.
One
most days, when my wife is done prepping her toast in the morning
the remains look like an attempt to chop a log with an axe. It’s
hacked all over. And, her approach drives me absolutely bonkers.
I
wouldn’t say I grew up with some sort of formal, deliberate approach
to butter. But I don’t know that I ever considered anything but
slicing a pad of it off of the stick, top to bottom style (so
to speak). I suppose if forced to explain it, because it’s never
something I’ve tried to explore before, I’d say that unconsciously
I feel it’s almost cruel to the next person to approach it any
other way. Be kind and keep the stick of butter neat for the next
person.
Funny
thing though. Both of us despise hard butter. Who the heck proposed
the idea that chilled butter was some great concept? Of course,
yes, sure, from a food safety approach it seems rather obvious
to not leave the butter on the counter completely unrefrigerated
for a few days. But tearing apart bread because the butter just
won’t spread is not my idea of a classy evening.
The
end result is that my wife will usually soften the butter for
a few seconds in the microwave. And it’s not some random attack
that she delivers for the sake of her toast. Nope. She’s just
trying to get some of the softer butter wherever it may be. There’s
a method to her madness, and it’s not that mad at all.
My
parents pour really small glasses of juice in the morning. Terry
and I usually go for larger servings. Just a random difference
I thought I’d note, because differences is where this stroll is
moving. Not into right or wrong. Just different.
I
don’t think Terry has ever told me what kind of peanut butter
to buy. She definitely has her preference of orange juice. There
are battles where she takes stands, and others where the outcome
really doesn’t bother her. It’s a give and take.
Around
the time we got married, we had a few friends and family arriving
at similar points in their relationships. (Seems like weddings
and such do take place in waves.) A few casual conversations would
head toward marriage from time to time, with questions about expectations.
And honestly, the answers depend on where your relationship is.
Will
you be making new decisions about filing taxes and applying for
car loans? Yes. Decisions like that will mean new thoughts and
considerations.
But
chances are good you’ve been around each other. I didn’t suddenly
begin buying Skippy instead of another brand once we were married.
Terry didn’t switch to Tropicana after a wedding band was placed
on her finger. The vast majority of preferences were out in the
open from day one, and not subject to change because of the relationship.
I’m
going to wrap this up because I think I hear her rustling upstairs
and her day is about to begin. She’s going to want some tea and
juice. And I’ll try not to roll my eyes if she decides she wants
toast.