After a couple of years of marriage, I have come to the conclusion that love comes in many shapes and sizes. I have also come to the conclusion that many of the so called “truths” out there are complete bollocks. Propaganda if you will. Like the following for instance:
Love is patient.
No it bloody isn’t. Case in point. I got to the train station a little later than I should have last week on a morning when I happened to need a new weekly ticket. I couldn’t therefore run straight down to the platform and wait for my train, I needed to stand in a queue first and hopefully not miss it. And to my mind, the waiting process was taking a little longer than it should have. So I started to fidget and make sure I had my credit card, the right credit card, out and ready. I began shuffling from foot to foot as if my reaction time was going to be faster when a ticket window finally became available. I muttered the mantra of the eternally hopeful under my breath. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon. But I didn’t push in front of someone else. I didn’t huff and puff and complain about the service, and I didn’t give up and storm over to the ticket machines instead. I was patient. More or less.
Skip to a couple of days later however when the puppy and I were ready to go somewhere and you, my husband, were clearly not, I was all over “For the LOVE of GOD, will you PLEASE stop fussing around like a girl and HURRY THE HELL UP! – you SO don’t need to worry about that crap now, lets GO!”. Patient? Not so much.
Love is kind.
Well I guess it can be. I certainly make more of an effort with you than I do with others but likewise, you probably bear the brunt of a little too much familiarity. If someone at work frustrates the crap out of me, the first words out of my lips are not “can you please pull your head out of your arse and wash your mouth out on the off chance that you’ll stop spouting crap”. If someone else asks for assistance I am more than happy to respond with “how can I help?”. When I see something that might be of benefit or use to others I often want to make it happen but when you come to me with a back/head/stomach ache I have been known to react along the lines of “awww….can’t you just get over it?”.
Love means never having to say you’re sorry.
Now this one is total codswallop. Apart from all the times when I have done something unfeeling in a state of unthinking and determined that I truly owed you an apology, you have actually asked me to apologise before. Several times in fact. I believe you have probably asked me to apologise in our relationship as many times as I can remember being asked to apologise by my parents when growing up. I’m also pretty sure that they probably asked me many many times to apologise and you really haven’t asked me that many times at all in the grand scheme of things but my point here is that I have definitely noticed you asking because I can’t remember anyone else (apart from my parents) who has.
…………finishing each other’s sentences.
Whilst this is a nauseatingly accurate assessment of the behaviour exhibited by some couples I certainly don’t believe that this is in any way a definition of love. I also don’t believe it applies to you and I. In my experience so far, we tend to execute a somewhat different version. Apparently for us, love means correcting each other’s sentences. Something we do with regularity. Take the other weekend for example. Conversation came around to your crazy hospital stay as you talked up a storm.
“…the pain was so intense when I arrived that they gave me morphine but that made me really paranoid so they had to give me something to calm me down but then that made me nauseous so then they had to give me something else to settle my stomach. Every time they needed to medicate me, they had to give me a cocktail of drugs!”
“No they didn’t. That was just the first time. It was only morphine that didn’t agree with you. They figured out that endone didn’t freak you out so the second and third time we went in I asked them to give you that instead.”
“…they didn’t know what was wrong so they ended up giving me a spinal tap but it didn’t heal properly…”
“They did have to make three passes at the spinal tap so there were really a couple of holes there”.
“…anyway, they kept me overnight then sent me home but we ended up coming back first thing the next morning.”
“Well actually, it was more like late morning. It was Good Friday and I had gone to find an open supermarket but you phoned me while I was out and said come and get me now.”
“…the next time they did a blood patch and then sent me home again but that procedure didn’t work either so I came back to hospital and had to stay for like two weeks”.
“It was a little more like a week and a half…”.
But you are not immune to this annoying habit either.
“…so Neighbourette called me up the other day to say that her uncle had kept all his cows and she had to tell me why. We had been talking previously about the rising floodwaters in Gundagai and she mentioned that her uncle had 200 head of cattle. She also mentioned that he had already moved them to the highest part of his land due to all the rain but if the river peaked above 10 metres then he was going to lose the whole lot.”
“No, it was if the river reached over 9.6 metres then he’d lose the cattle.”
“…anyway, the river kept on rising and at one point, he took his jet ski out onto the flooded Murrimbidgee to go and check on them. While he was out there, he was looking at the cows and at his land and at the neighbours land and then he thought ‘Hmm…my neighbours land looks a little higher than mine’ so he went and got some bolt cutters to cut a hole in the fence and then he herded 200 head of cattle, with a jet ski mind you, onto his neighbours land. The river peaked at like 10.2 metres…”
“Actually it was actually 10.9 metres”.
“So most of the cattle were saved although about ten of them did unfortunately get swept away but get this, about 10k’s down the road (or the river as it were), seven of them actually came out!”.
“I think you’ll find it was ten went in and three of them came out. Seven were totally swept away”.
“Fine, but I thought this was a classic story and only in Gundagai, right?”.
“Well actually this could really be any Australian outback town…”.
“Ok, why don’t YOU just tell the story next time?”.
And I might as well just add a disclaimer here that the above is my recollection of the conversations and any hard facts and figures may well be totally not accurate at all – but you get my point. Never let the facts get in the way of a good story. Unless of course, you are not the one telling the story in which case tall poppy syndrome never did anyone any permanent harm. Besides, we are just keeping each other truthful and accountable, right? Because if nothing else, love for someone else is wanting the best for them.
Your Loving Wife
* Photo taken at Pennyweight Winery on our recent trip to Beechworth