Sorry...kinda

When someone asks, “How are you?” how do you respond? For most people, if you are good, you say, “Fine, and you?” If you are not so good, the response will be more like, “Oh, everything is horrible right now. It’s raining, my dog/cat/canary just died, and I think I’m coming down with something.” But rarely, even if we are spectacular, do we relay that in detail to an acquaintance. That would be bragging, considered a sin equivalent to shoplifting or talking during a movie in society’s eyes.

Why do I start out this way? Well, I got in a bit a trouble at home over last week’s column. Normally, Nate doesn’t read my columns. But for some reason, he picked up a copy of the Tribune-Phonograph last week for some Friday night reading. “You make me look like an idiot,” he said in an annoyed voice. I happened to be attempting to feed Jacob a little cereal at the time, barely paying attention. I politely responded with our circulation numbers. The response I got was “the look.” You all know the one. The one a significant other gives that cannot be crossed. Most of the time, the men are on the receiving end, but roles were reversed this time.

Most of the time, my columns come out sarcastic and complaining about something. I haven’t been working in this industry too long, but I know people don’t like to read about happy, flowery, “the world is a wonderful place” stuff. As part of my job, I sometimes deliver newspapers to stores in the area. I think that comes under the “Other duties to be assigned” part of my job description. It’s interesting to see what stories make people buy a newspaper more. This fall we had an interesting contrast from one week to the next. The first was a happy picture of people carving pumpkins. Just makes your insides all warm thinking about it, huh? The next week was a dark, smokey picture of rubble that once was home to a herd of dairy cows. Guess which people wanted to read about more? That’s right, the awful reality of the barn fire disaster.

It’s just human nature to be curious about the sad events. We like to have our heart strings tugged on. We like to feel emotion. Unfortunately, it’s a lot easier to convey sadness, heartbreak, anger and stupidity than love and happiness. So Nate, here’s the thing. I could write about what a nice guy you are, but people don’t want to read about that. And, I hate to brag too much. And honey, as long as I’m writing this column, be prepared for more tongue-in-cheek remarks and occasional harassment. Each week when I write my letter to the readers, I try to come up with something most everyone can relate to and make people think about their own lives. A crazy family, goofy significant other and silly childhood memories seems to get the brain juices flowing.

So sorry, family. You’re still in my sights.

This column pissed Nate off...he he...

I’m pretty sure that in Latin, the word “wife” means, “one who finds things.” Because if I had a dollar for every time Nate asked, “Where is my...?” I’d be retired on some Caribbean beach right now. Maybe it’s because I’m home more, or maybe it’s just because I actually put things away, but I can always find what Nate is looking for around home. Be it a belt, inhaler, checkbook, pen, magazine, etc., I almost always can tell him right where to find it.

My mom is much better at this than I am. I suppose it’s because she’s been married 26 years and chased after five children. When we were kids, it was always shoes. They had a tendency to walk off by themselves after we took them off after school the day before. “Where did you leave them last?” was always the question. And I would think, duh, if I remembered, I wouldn’t need help. But a lot of the time, I did remember. Unfortunately, there were 12 other hands in the house that could move them. Not to mention the mouth of a dog or two. But somehow, my mom could always reach under the coach, or from behind a door, and produce the missing shoes. I always wondered how she knew.

I lost my glasses not long ago, and she threatened to come up and find them for me. Scary thing is, I’d bet she would walk in and pull them right out from under the seat of my car or from behind a lotion bottle in the bathroom cupboard. Having experienced it first hand, I know it’s slightly annoying to have someone make you feel a little dumb for losing so many items. But like my mom, I take a little smug pleasure in telling Nate exactly where his lost item now rests. The problem is he hardly ever puts anything away. If he wears a belt, it stays in his pants until I go to wash them. There’s been more than one occasion where I didn’t see the belt and it got washed right along with the jeans.

Medicines that get left out go back to one of two cupboards. Amazingly, Nate hasn’t figured this out yet. When he asks where his inhaler went, it’s always in the cupboard beside the sink. Some things are more random. Most of the time, he carries his checkbook with him, but he also will leave it at home until a magazine gets set on top of it on the table. Then it’s up to me to solve this mystery. Maybe it’s because I’m the evil magazine reader who hid his checkbook.

There are a few things I don’t mind having him leave around. Change and single bills left in pockets become my lunch money. I call it my laundry fee. Other forgotten items are not appreciated. He may complain if I have pop and water bottles or food wrappers left on my car floor. However, if he looked closer, he would find that at least half are his own.

Unfortunately, losing things seems to be hereditary as I’ve learned from my own family experience. All too soon, it will be Jacob who can’t find his shoes. But by then, Nate should have me trained good enough that I’ll be an expert “wife.”