After I've chosen a parking space at one of the local mega-malls, she will, invariably, make a comment as we trek toward the entrance. She'll nod in the direction of an empty space and say, smugly, "We could have parked there, it would have been closer."
In the beginning, I would kick-up dirt, pitch my hat into the ground, hop up and down, snort and howl, "Next time, you choose the parking space!" Years later, we turn into mega-mall parking lots with her suggesting, reassuringly, "Park anywhere, we can walk." Then, as we near the entrance and see a closer parking space open up, she drops the bomb, "We could have parked there, it would have been closer."
Now, I merely sag.
Oh, she'll testify she continues to say it purely for humor's sake, but as I sit, straitjacketed, in the defendant's box, I'm convinced the judge will sense the intense level of inflicted mental cruelty and rule in my favor.
As we approached the border crossing this weeekend, I asked, "Which lane?" Choosing the wrong lane, the one moving slower than all the others, or the one that suddenly closes, would result in the same verbal abuse as choosing the wrong parking space at the mall. As a matter of self-preservation, I involve her in the decisions. That way, when a decision backfires, the delightful flow of abuse goes two-ways.
"Behind the white SUV", decreed Susan. As soon as the white SUV in front of us pulled even with the customs booth, American border agents opened the door of the vehicle, led the driver around to the back where, in plain view, they handcuffed him and led him away. As one of the agents drove the suspect's vehicle away, the remaining agent waved us forward to the booth.
I managed to mutter, "Well done, dear."
Crossing back into Canada from New York today, I selected a booth under a green light with no cars in line. I, still living dangerously, made the decision without prior spousal consultation. As we rolled to a stop, I hastily reached into the centre console of the car, grabbing our passports. After bending down to glance inside our vehicle, the guard demanded to know why one passport was missing. Caught off-guard, I responded, "I didn't give you three?" My voice squeaked. The word "three" came out a few octaves higher than the first part of my stunned inquiry.
All the way home, Susan and Tristan giggled and guffawed, repeatedly blurting out the sentence, "I didn't give you squeak?", "I didn't give you squawk?"
When faced with such a lack of support, I ask you, what's a man to do?
Apart from today's episode, the holidays have been awesome! I watched a lot of hockey with the world junior tournament underway. I played a lot of hockey with two one-hour sessions of "holiday hockey", where I rent the ice for family and friends. I also played in my regular Thursday night game, collecting a goal and an assist.
I read a book over the holidays! These days, I read books pretty rarely. It was a novel Susan suggested I might like. It proved an adequate source of entertainment.
I played a lot of games! I finished second at "Balderdash", losing to Tristan but maintaining bragging rights for the year by hanging on to beat "The Great Geez" (see December 26, 2010 blog). Continuing tradition, I, once again, lost to Susan at "Scrabble". I watched others make fools of themselves playing "Kinect", although our pal, Ryan, was a first-time monster, beating our scores in the majority of sports.
I never liked him anyway.
I recklessly leapt from the iTunes nest! Fed up of nagging Tristan to find songs I wanted, I set up my own iTunes account, figured out how to redeem cards and buy songs! Now, with wings spread wide apart, I'm soaring up, down, left, right, soul, folk, jazz and pop. Wheeee!
Thanks and happy new year to my fourteen followers! I wish you health, happy times and a heap of prosperity, too!