Pet Peeve Showdown

I am 5 feet and 2 inches tall. This normally wouldn’t be a problem (except when the bus driver waits for me to get on too when I help children on a school bus) but my husband, Bob, is 6’ 2” and we drive the same vehicles.  We sit in the same seat.  Get my drift?

I usually move the seat forward until my nose is pressed up against the front window like a kid in a candy store.  I have to be that close so I can actually reach the pedal, which I hear is important for braking and other such driving maneuvers.  Meanwhile, my husband likes to drive gansta-style, with his head practically hanging out the back window.

Enter repeated Fight #33 of our marriage: The Fight of the Forgetful Seat Mover.

Here’s my man’s deal: he want me to move the seat back to the southern hemisphere of the car so that he doesn’t have to make like a munchkin and try to squeeze into a one foot by one foot area in order to navigate the vehicle again.  I’ve agreed to this, I’m all for it…but I forget about actually doing it.  Oh, how I’ve tried to remember this!  I even stuck post-it notes to the dashboard and to my forehead but STILL forgot to move the seat back.  Besides, the neon yellow paper on my forehead didn’t do wonders for my social calender so I eventually gave up on that method.

There is that moment when Bob kisses me goodbye and is about to climb into the suburban (that I had just got home from getting groceries in) when I suddenly think to myself, “Oh…did I put the seat back?”  Of course, the answer is always “oops/no” and it’s too late by then as I see all 6’ 2” and 200+ pounds of my linebacker husband trying to squeeze into the seat like a magician contorting into a tiny box for an amazing trick!

He usually sees me watching him with a little smile on my face from the kitchen window and gives me a look…what is that look again, dear?  Affection?  Undying love?  Or something like that.

Now I would like to submit exhibit Fight #52 in this hearing: Fight of The Earbuds Annoyance.  This is MY deal, MY pet peeve about my adorable guy.  

It involves a pair of little black headphones that I have fantasized about throwing into the Grand Canyon.  Yes, I may need therapy for this!  Here’s the deal:  my husband loves technology, if there is a new blackberry, blueberry, iphone, idon’tcare or laptop-he’s there!  After putting in a long day at the office and helping out with dinner, baths and bedtime, the way he likes to chill is by placing two little headphones in his ears and letting the world pass him by.  

I open our bedroom door and there he is, kicked back in the recliner with his “earbuds” (or shall I more accurately call them “ear-enemies”) and laughing at a radio show.  I open the bathroom door and there he is, with the earbuds, listening to some rap while he shaves his face.  

Perhaps this wouldn’t be a problem if I didn’t enjoy talking to him ANYTIME I feel like it!  I want to be able to say something from another part of the house (a great idea, a random thought, I just go with the verbal flow as it comes) and have Bob respond that he heard me and (bonus) sing my praises (ha, ha).  I want to open the bathroom door, say, “Hey, I am in a good mood today!!”  and have him smile with me. I want to open the bedroom door a moment later and say, “Hey, I’m feeling crabby now.  What’s up with that?!”  and have him help me analyze my every feeling. But instead of this world I dream of, I get EARBUDS.

So I open the door to say something…something deep…something wonderful…something like; “Did you do the dishes yet?” and I get nothing!  No response!  No heart to heart chat!  Instead, my dear husband looks up at me with a face of such oblivious cluelessness that I realize with a sinking heart, he didn’t hear a word I just said because he has those _____ (beep, beep, beeping) EARBUDS in!!  I feel my blood pressure a-rising just thinking about it, whew.  Okay, that is MY pet peeve.

A quote from the witty and ingenious marriage counselor, Mark Gunger, springs to mind, “There’s good news and there's bad news.  The bad news is your spouse may do things that bug you ‘till the day you die.  The good news is; you die!”

I must admit though, it’s the whole dying to self thing that really…kills me!  Maybe God was thinking of movable car seats, earbuds, and Bob and Tara Cole when he reminded us that “love covers”.  (1 Peter 4:8)  I’m thinking I could work on letting love cover my annoyance with my man and his beloved earbuds.  Of course, I could also work on not talking Bob’s ear off 24/7 so he doesn’t need earbuds as much!!  Or not.

Well, Bob Cole, what do YOU think (nothing like a surprise blog to put you on the spot and shock those earbuds out of your ears): could you keep on loving me and delighting in me the rest of your life, whether I ever put that darn car seat back or not?  

You don’t have to really answer, I already know.  You already do.  Maybe one day I’ll surprise you and actually move the seat…but then I wouldn’t have a hilarious magician show to watch from my kitchen window anymore.