In a relationship, you learn that your significant other views the world very differently than you do. While you may have come together based on mutual likes and dislikes, your significant other will age, leading him or her to become more and more....well...strange. He or she will decide that that there are only certain things, circumstances, and situations in which they're equipped to engage and it is only around this sun that their world will revolve. Now, for most wives, the world revolves them, but, the joy of being married to Mike is that when the world turns on its axis, facing him, we all get to see things like we're...well...on crack.
A few days ago, our bathroom sink was backed up. Ironically, despite the fact that Mike cannot fix anything (except DVD players and computers) I always...always run to him when something's broken. Whether it's a shattered glass or a noise in my car, I run straight to him...as if he's going to do anything about it....and BTW...as if I necessarily NEED him to do anything about it. It's not as if I haven't taken my car to the mechanic or killed a cockroach on my own before, it's just that, once you live with a man, it seems that it's their responsibility to handle these things. Why? Perhaps because we handle most everything else and it seems like the universe is throwing us a bone when something's f-d up, it's like, "here, have him deal with it and see what happens!" At the very least, God knows, comedy will ensue.
ME: "Honey, the sink's stopped up."
He saunters over to the sink in a cowboy-like way, adjusting the elastic on his underwear and puffing up his chest.
MIKE: "Hmmmmm. Looks like the sink's stopped up."
At this point, he's empowered. I have given him license to decide what's wrong and how to fix it. He's a MAN.
ME: "Yes, that's true. What should we do about it?"
He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet with skeptical brows, pondering...
MIKE: "This is an issue."
ME: "Yes, it is. I'd like to brush my teeth."
He grumbles....all the while thinking, "She thinks I know how to fix this f-ing thing but I don't and yet, I'm going to act as if I'm thinking about how I'm going to fix it and I'm going to sound thoughtful and smart."
MIKE: "So would I...So would I..."
ME: "Any ideas?"
I lean in to look at it alongside him and he, puffed chest and all, thrusts his arm out in front of me the way a driving mother does to protect her child in the passenger seat.
MIKE: "Hold on. Hold on...Just....Give....Me....A MINUTE."
ME: "OK"
He walks away. Thank God! Walking away means he has the solution! He knows how he's going to solve the problem and within four minutes I WILL be brushing my teeth, taking my makeup off and in a few MORE minutes, I'll be getting into bed!
He returns.
He's holding a plunger.
Now, in the world according to Mike, this is a completely completely logical idea.
ME: "Care to explain?"
MIKE: "We don't have any Drano, and I realized something..."
He's standing there, in his underwear, brandishing his sword...THE PLUNGER...
MIKE: "...there's absolutely NO reason why you can plunge a toilet and not a sink."
ME: "Are you sure? Because I feel like that's something that's just not done, you know? I mean, I feel like if it were something that people did, then we'd...uh...we'd know about it."
MIKE: "You know what? Maybe it's just something that no one's figured out. Maybe I'm the first one to do this and everyone will thank me when it works."
May I remind you that he's standing there in his underwear waving his plunger at me?
ME: "If this works, Mike...if it works...we....will...be....gagillionaires. This could be the start of something big."
MIKE: "You make fun, but I don't see how this couldn't work, it makes perfect sense."
And with that, he thrusts the rubber bowl of the plunger into the drain of the sink and begins furiously plunging plunging plunging. He's sweating, our 1930's sink is rattling around....I can't watch....
I turn away and head into the bedroom.
ME: "How's it going?!"
Beat.
MIKE: "Well...l
An even longer beat.
Mike: "Let's just say...you...DON'T want to come in here."
This is usually the part where Mike's joking and he finishes with, 'because i fixed the sink and you didn't believe me so now you don't get to use it,' but instead...
ME: "Why?"
He hears me padding towards the bathroom...
MIKE: "Don't....come...."
Too late.
The sink is now overflowing with a black, tar-like substance that groans and bubbles to the top.
ME: "What the hell did you do?! It's so much worse than it was before!"
MIKE: "I told you not to come in here!"
ME: "What? So I'm never allowed to go into my bathroom again?! It's going to stay like this forever?! It's my fault for coming in here but it's not your fault for DECIDING TO PLUNGE THE SINK? Who the f-k does that?!"
MIKE: "Actually, this isn't my fault."
ME: "And why, pray tell, would that be?"
MIKE: "Because you asked for my help with this and you never should have done that."
He plops the plunger on the tile floor of the bathroom, shoots me a look, and exits...
ME: "You acted like you could fix it."
MIKE: "Call a plumber. In my world, that's what you do. This isn't my job and until then...."
ME: "What?"
MIKE: "Don't go into the bathroom."
ME: "Let's make a deal."
MIKE: "Yes?"
ME: "In my world, you call the plumber."
MIKE: "Fantastic. Can I go now?"
ME: "Yes."
MIKE: "Thank you."
After the sink fiasco, our washing machine began shrieking like a dying hyena. I, of course, went running to 'you know who' and he fixed it with a swift bang of his foot. Mike looked at me, "That's how I fix things. Otherwise...."
ME: "Yes, I know. Call someone."
MIKE: "You got it."
Lesson learned...until....of course....a cockroach dances across our living room floor. Then, I'm definitely going to need that foot of his...
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