What Seems Like an Insult Might be an Expression of Love
Appreciate the Message Behind the Words
Married? Then, you will understand what I am talking about and relate to this story.
Sometimes, I hear the words that come out of my husband’s mouth and wonder if he listens to himself speak. When I see the look on his face, it is obvious he is thinking, “Did I just say that out loud?”
When traveling, we often visit a restaurant for breakfast. We enjoy sipping on our coffee. It is wonderful to enjoy a conversation as somebody refills the cup, keeping the brew at the perfect temperature. Randy and I both relish the pleasure of retirement and the knowledge that no pressing concerns force our movements.
Last week, as the waitress sat our meals on the table, we immediately exchanged the plates of toast because it is understood that I get the darker pieces and love the crunch. What I don’t like is the way they butter the toast with a blob in the center that melts to make the center soggy and never reaches the edges. Picking up a pat of butter, I unwrapped it and strategically spread the rich substance around the edges.
My husband, without thinking, said, “Are you going to put MORE butter on that?” Yes, he did stress the word MORE.
We’ve been married for over forty years, so not only should he know I am adding butter, but he should know not to comment on my eating habits. In response to my glare, he gave me that look of wonder that translated to, “Did I say that out loud?”
I kept my mouth full of the ham and cheese omelet to prevent me from responding — no reason to ruin the morning.
Later in the day, we ventured to the golf course. Let me make it obvious: my abilities are less refined than Randy’s. He is a competitive perfectionist who doesn’t settle for anything less than his best.
I, on the other hand, enjoy a slow walk on the course and often spend more time picking blackberries than calculating the slope of the greens. From the tee box, Randy hit an exceptional drive, leaving the ball within three feet of the hole.
The tall grass to the right swallowed my ball. I hit it a second time, propelling it 100 yards onto the short grass. That's not bad, considering the weeds surrounding it.
Since climbing in the cart takes more time than simply walking the short distance, I strolled over to address the ball a third time. Then, a fourth. For anyone unknowledgeable about the game, the player furthest from the hole hits until they are closest. Once I arrived near the green, I chipped — a little harder than necessary — sending the ball to the opposite side. Only two putts, and miraculously, I sunk it.
To my surprise, as I sat in the cart, Randy climbed in beside me and started to drive away. When I reminded him that his ball remained on the green, he said, “You took so long I forgot about me.” That look flashed across his face again. I simply reprimanded him with another stern glare in an attempt to warn him it was not necessary to speak every thought.
One positive outcome of not hitting the ball far is I do not lose many balls. They never go far enough. However, hitting over water challenges my abilities. So, as I approached the tee box on the seventh hole and prepared to shoot, Randy blurted out, “Do you really wanna lose your red ball in the lake?” Did he just say that out loud?
He knew I loved the red ball I had found earlier under the blackberry bushes. See there is an advantage to eating blackberries while golfing. He knew the odds of me clearing the pond were low, so he tried to help. His choice of words did just the opposite. He could have asked if I would like to use a different ball. He might have suggested choosing an older, more worn ball. Instead, he asserted there was no chance I would make it over the water.
This time, when I glared at him, we both broke out in giggles because we understood the accuracy of his statement. I picked up the red orb and threw it towards him, not at him even though that was my instinct. Then I watched as the one that replaced it made a splash. To his credit, Randy did not say another word but handed me the red ball on the other side of the pond.
Married? Then you understand. Sometimes, what we think slips through our lips and makes an appearance. We’ve discovered the best response usually is to ignore the Freudian slip rather than ruin the moment.
And to be honest, I am not innocent. When we finished the golf game and sat at the bar in the clubhouse to enjoy a beer, my words gained some strange looks.
With a sore back and strained muscles, I envisioned a massage, but the words didn’t accurately express my thoughts when I said, “I can’t wait to get back to the motorhome, lay on the bed, and use the vibrator.” Massager would have been a better choice of words.
My husband’s stern facial expression communicated his surprise, and then we giggled. Onlookers just stared.
Learning to laugh at ourselves creates security in our relationship.