I'm not saying they do it on purpose... In fact, I just made it abundantly clear by using scientific evidence that they can't help it. Geneticists all over the world have done extensive studies on why men only hear what they want to hear and they actually isolated the "I'm Not Ignoring You, I Just Am Not Able To Pay Attention To Anything You Say That Doesn't Involve Sex Or Football" DNA particle. Don't believe me? Then come to my house on any given night and listen to my husband ask me the same questions he's asked me 145,747,839,302 times before and then insist that the subject has never come up and I don't know what I'm talking about.
In his mind, he is the innocent victim of my inability to communicate effectively.
It's a scenario that takes place night after night, on couches, at kitchen tables, and in bedrooms all over the world.
Dan is fairly picky, food-wise. (Which is shocking, considering he looks like he's never missed a meal.) If it isn't something he mother made (Hamburger Helper, Rice-a-Roni, frozen fried chicken, or any large hunk of animal flesh served with potatoes and corn), then he's iffy, at best, and is usually pretty sure he won't like it. (In no way do I blame his mother... she had to cook for the pickiest eaters on the face of the planet. If it wasn't meat and potatoes, it wasn't getting eaten. She has my deepest sympathy.) Over the years, I've introduced him to many different foods that he's never eaten before, and literally every single time I cook one of these "weird" foods, he claims I've never made it. Which I have. Many, many times.
Take today:
Dan called from work, as he usually does, around 3:00-ish. Also per usual, he asked what's for dinner.
Me: *answering even though I knew exactly what was going to follow* "Frittata."
Dan: "What?"
Me: "Frittata."
Dan: "What??"
Me: "FRITTATA. FRITTATA. FRI. TAW. TUH. FRITTATA."
Dan: "Fri-what, now?"
Me: "Fri. Taw. Tuh."
Dan: "What the hell is that?"
Me: "The same thing it was the last 200 times I've made it."
Dan: "You've never made that."
Me: "Yes, I have. It's the egg thingy I make, with ham and cheese."
Dan: "You mean an omelette?"
Me: *remaining calm... I'm a SAINT, people* "If I meant omelette I would have said omelette. It's like a crustless quiche. You like it. I usually serve it with crusty bread and a salad."
Dan: "So it's like an omelette."
Me: "No, Dan, it's like a frittata. Because that's what it is."
Dan: "So is the ham and cheese and stuff inside of it, like an omelette?"
Me: *giving up on Sainthood* "Seriously? Dan... it's a frittata. It's like quiche, only with no crust. I cook it in the oven, cut it into wedges, and then we eat it. Like quiche. Only without crust. Because it's a frittata. I send the leftovers to work with you in the morning for breakfast. We have it probably once a month or so."
Dan:
Me:
Dan: "So what's it called again?"
EVERY. TIME.
We go through the same spiel if I make tamales, enchiladas, fruit salad (I know, right? He can't get it through his head that fruit salad is just cut up fruit. He always wants to know if there's Jello in it. NO, THERE'S NO FREAKING JELLO IN FRUIT SALAD. IT'S CUT UP FRUIT. PERIOD. THE END. GAHHHHH!), chili verde...
It's enough to make me crazy.
I also think it's a good enough reason to smother him with a pillow while he sleeps.
(I kid, I kid... Or do I?)
Here's what I know, with absolute certainty: The sun will rise and set, the earth will spin on it's axis, and Dan will come home tonight and say, "Now, what do you call this again?"
Mark my words.
Jeezy-Beezy. I almost fell out of my chair over the 'is there jello in the fruit salad?'
ReplyDeleteClassic.
You mean, Jello isn't a fruit?
ReplyDelete#headsmack
Actually, I DO have one that listens (no vagina hidden anywhere in his anatomy, you know this of course)... its not listening to me kacey has a problem with, its acknowledging that I'm speaking to him. The when I repeat myself when he doesn't say anything, look at me or even motion he heard me, he gets irritated.
ReplyDeleteKacey is, of course, the exception to every rule. And I know exactly of what you speak. Shea and Brennan do the same thing. I remember standing in front of them saying, "Look up at me if you heard what I said." Then I'd get the eyeroll, followed by, "I HEARD you!" Well, then say so! It's part of their fabulous "ness." xo
ReplyDeleteI have 3 kids. Two boys, 18 and 16, and a girl who is 12. EVERY FREAKING day they ask me what is for dinner. My sister and I both hate that question, so we were on the phone one day and decided together than when our families ask us what's for dinenr, we will answer with whatever comes to mind first. "what's for dinner?" ...peas and gravy or...waffles and liver. whatever pops in there. It's fun! You are welcome!!
ReplyDeleteJesus H. Tapdancing Christ on a low carb cracker... My blood pressure spiked just reading that. My husband is not the pickiest eater anymore, but it has taken the whole of the six years I've known him to change that. My mother in law hates cooking, so when it came to feeding her four children, it was Campbell's soup casseroles with dry, tasteless chicken and nothing else. She absolutely ruined chicken for my husband (and by extension, me) for years. He would fight me every time he saw chicken come out of the freezer, and even went so far as to take it out of the shopping cart when I wasn't looking.
ReplyDeleteIt got so frustrating that I finally adopted the mantra "It puts the food in its mouth or it goes hungry AND sleeps on the couch." At least now he walks through the front door and tells me how good it smells and how hungry he is and doesn't look on the stove to see what "it" actually is.
Not quite as frustrating as your guy, since mine remembers what each dish is called, but I'm more than reasonably certain it's because he knows which of them would take him the most effort to make, so he avoids requesting them.