The other day, I asked The Boss a question. Ladies, you know the kind I mean. I'm talkin' about the type of query that makes the man stop in his tracks and look at you in alarm. The kind that makes him take a deep breath and swallow the huge lump of fear that has just accumulated in his throat.
I remember thinking that he was likely having his very own "Conversations In the Intersection" kind of moment. I even felt faintly bad for him. For a New York minute. Knowing that the nature of the question forced not just a response, but a response that required honesty with emotion attached. Honesty that would likely get him into trouble. And emotion that was on a level of vulnerability with which The Boss is not regularly comfortable. Not like I am anyway. I mean, I kinda live with my emotions right out there which, by the way, has its own set of unique and troublesome issahs, I tell ya. Yeah, I live there. He only occasionally visits the territory for special events and monumental arguments. I mean, ahem, meaningful interactions of intense fellowship.
So anyway. I asked him this question. I needed to connect and have some feelings explored. He needed to get out of there. Fast. I needed verbal intimacy and word cuddles. He needed to pound his chest, growl and grow more chest hair. I needed to feel the comfort of his voice washing over me. His voice was stuck in the back of his throat.
Does anyone else want to laugh out loud when they have caught their dear in the headlights of wifely conversation?
I remember thinking that he was likely having his very own "Conversations In the Intersection" kind of moment. I even felt faintly bad for him. For a New York minute. Knowing that the nature of the question forced not just a response, but a response that required honesty with emotion attached. Honesty that would likely get him into trouble. And emotion that was on a level of vulnerability with which The Boss is not regularly comfortable. Not like I am anyway. I mean, I kinda live with my emotions right out there which, by the way, has its own set of unique and troublesome issahs, I tell ya. Yeah, I live there. He only occasionally visits the territory for special events and monumental arguments. I mean, ahem, meaningful interactions of intense fellowship.
So anyway. I asked him this question. I needed to connect and have some feelings explored. He needed to get out of there. Fast. I needed verbal intimacy and word cuddles. He needed to pound his chest, growl and grow more chest hair. I needed to feel the comfort of his voice washing over me. His voice was stuck in the back of his throat.
Does anyone else want to laugh out loud when they have caught their dear in the headlights of wifely conversation?
4 comments:
Having 'been' the deer - ah no. ;)
But we'd really like to know what the answer was....we can derive the question from that!
hugs - aus and co.
Um...I really want to know what the question was. i can't get past that.
Curiosity pulses through my thoughts...
And -- Nearly EVERY time I ask the Professor a serious question (doesn't seem to matter WHAT question) I seem to get *that* look. Often accompanied by slumping shoulders and a resigned sigh.
Glad you are back! We had one of those "dear in the headlights" moments last weekend too when talking about adopting again (even though we don't have the first one done yet). His initial response was a definite no, but last night he came home and said he thought it was a good idea. Hooray!
By the way...I'm curious about your question as well - don't leave us hangin' sister.
Yes, I laugh. And then the husband typically responds with "I need to take Bart for a walk." Which is our code phrase for "I know I'm supposed to say something here, but I have no idea what it should be." Oh, and Bart the dog? Has been dead for over six years. Does this make us weird - the way we talk in code?
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