Who knows, maybe it has always been this way and I just never noticed until now? Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed watching three seasons of Downton Abbey as much as the General did. We never had ample time to watch the series through the week, so she bought the series at the end of each season and there were Friday nights when we watched one segment right after another.
Color me anyway you want, but I don’t make a good Carson. Somehow the General has obviously gotten me confused with that role model. She doesn’t even press a button to ring a bell summoning me to appear. She simply calls me by name and anticipates that I will immediately be at her beck and call.
At some level, isn’t there something wrong with that concept? Why is it always my assigned task to follow the trail of her voice so I can be the recipient to some form of communication? Generally, I subsequently find myself the recipient of some kind of gentle redirection. Sometimes I feel like Pavlov’s dog. I intuitively associate her voice with my being subsequently redirected.
Stop to think of it, Pavlov’s dog might have had it better had the dog belonged to the General instead of Pavlov. The General is a friend of four legged furry creatures. She even reverts to baby talk with them. However, with me, she is never out of character. She is always the General.
So what misstep did I make yesterday morning? Seriously, I had rinsed my plate and put it and the flatware in the dishwasher. I had made my way back to the computer to do some work and there it was again – the sound of “Don” ringing in my ears.
I didn’t quite get it at first, although I looked in her direction. She asked: “Did you forget something?” I blocked the impulse to respond: “A set of earplugs”. That wouldn’t have worked out favorably. Are you ready for this? I had not completely pushed the barstool back under the counter at the kitchen island.
To say the least, it made for interesting conversation. The General made some reference to: “Living with you is like living with a two year old.” I didn’t respond by calling her “Mamma”.
Of course to be perfectly candid, the General mostly waits on me. I can’t take credit for doing much. However, in terms of her expectations, my slovenly behavior is never overlooked. Of course, her definition of slovenly behavior and my perception are worlds apart.
She constantly is summoning me to “attend to business” and pick up after myself. If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a dozen times: “You used to be neat. I don’t know what’s happened to you.”
Who knows, maybe she’s got me confused with someone else. I am not a slob. I would never consider leaving dirty dishes in the sink and I’d never leave home in the morning with the bed unmade. Of course, we have a “rule” at our house that whoever is the last to get out of bed has responsibility for making the bed. I don’t throw laundry on the floor and apart from my office area I don’t leave clutter lying around. Even then, I try to stack it neatly.
However, it is nice to know that living with me is like living with a two-year-old. Seriously, can that be all bad? Two year olds can be very lovable. I know, you’re probably not seeing it from that perspective. You’re probably thinking I’d make a good poster child for the “terrible twos”. Hey! Give a guy the benefit of the doubt!
Wait a minute! For starters, don’t most two year olds want to explore the world and seek adventure? They are always testing limits to see how far outside the lines they can color and their behavior still be found acceptable. Maybe the General is right. It has only been a year and a half since I retired. Maybe I’m approaching two-year-old behavior in terms of sharing space 24/7 with someone else. As a married couple we’ve never been down this road before. Always before there has been the outlet of work and friends and recreation that provided some built-in space.
To my credit, unlike a two year old, I mostly have full control over my emotional impulses. I don’t throw a temper tantrum when I’m summoned to put the bar stool back in exactly the same place I found it. I certainly don’t respond to redirection by hitting, biting or kicking. I'm smarter than that.
So what does one do? Maybe that’s where the concept of “silver alerts” originate? I could always run away from home. However, home is where the heart it. Consequently, that won’t work. I guess I will have to revert to “minding my ps and qs”. I’m not sure where the expression originated, but my mother often used it as a form of redirection. So for today, I’ll be on my best behavior. I’ll see where that takes me.
All My Best!
Don