One Never Knows, Do One?

Most of us who have been married or in a relationship for a long time think we know our partner pretty darn well. Right? We know their favorite foods and the restaurants that serve them. We know the music they want to listen to on the way there. 

We understand how they feel about politics and religion, where they stand on child rearing and how to share a bathroom peacefully, without any messy bloodshed.

We each have our own side of the bed. It’s the law.

How do we empty the toothpaste tube, roll it up tightly from the bottom or just squeeze away?

What’s the best way to stack dishes in the dishwasher? Is there a right way and a wrong way? What do we need from the grocery store? Did you make a list? Should we hang wet clothes on the line or just throw them in the dryer?

Rules for child rearing and work sharing are big items but most disagreements are over the little stuff. You know, is the roll of TP supposed to drape over the top or stick out from the bottom?

She signs my name on most documents and I open her mail.

But is it really OK to simply eat that last piece of Chocolate Truffle Pie or do I need to ask first? I don't want to get hurt.

If you’ve been at this a while though, you already know the answer.

Carla and I are in our 42nd year together, at this point you can ask me anything. I know what she wants and what she’ll say.

For the last 18 years we’ve lived near the beach. We love to take the dogs for long walks. They run in and out, sand and surf. We love the views, the places to eat nestled in the dunes. Everything about it is awesome...but the water itself? Not so much.

Carla and I don’t surf, boat, fish or swim. The water is too deep, too dark, and full of things with very sharp teeth that eat toes in one snap like a cluster of live calamari.

We’re not water people. Hell, I don’t even like water in my drinks.

So when my boyhood friend, David, came to town hauling the Boston Whaler that he built by hand, we admired it greatly, complimented his carpentry skills endlessly, and knew, without question, that neither of us would ever actually be in the thing, on actual water.

Maybe, maybe, maybe David would be able to shame me, get me out there in his homemade boat by mocking my manhood, suggesting that I have low testosterone levels. OK, that’s possible, but Carla? No way.

She would never, ever, go out on deep water in that thing. I know the lady. No way, no how.

Then when I went off to work one Tuesday while David was visiting, this happened.

As Fats Waller once famously said: “One never knows, do one?”

No Fats, I guess not…