In the obligatory pre-marital counseling, a couple learns about what they will fight over once the deed is done. The list really comes as no surprise to anyone, but is still worth noting. Being halfway through year one, I figured this was a good time to see how we are stacking up.
1. Money
…Guilty. Turns out, yours truly is super anal when it comes to finances. I blame my mother. If it were a hundred years ago, I would be burying jars of cash in the front yard. Well, at least until I find a "must have" gadget to drop a couple grand on. My cash flow follows the "feast or famine" mentality. My wife Allison, I have found, tends to be more consistent.
Couple Grey's Anatomy with Private Practice and you have an acceptable form of torture in 37 states.Although widely accepted by females, the notion of purchasing clothes on a regular basis is completely foreign to me. Women are born with a chromosome that compels them to open the closet at the beginning of each season and say, "I have nothing to wear." Half of my shirts are cheeky thrift store purchases or road race freebies. I own two decent pairs of jeans, and I will wear each until they fail the smell test.
Admittedly, the whole sharing a bank account thing has taken a little getting used to.
2. Sex
I'm not going to confirm or deny this claim, as it's none of your dadgum business.
3. Family
After a while, one realizes that we all have strange apples in our family tree. No surprises here. If anything, I am quite pleased with the cooking skills in Allison's family. The meatballs are heavenly.
So we check out pretty well with the big three, but there are definitely a few that Dr. Guffin failed to mention. I request that they be added to the pamphlet…
Thursday Night TV
Somewhere in the depths of Los Angeles, a bunch of short white men gathered a few years ago and agreed to schedule as many good shows as possible on Thursday night between the hours of 7 and 10pm.
I love stupid comedies—so much that I watch virtually nothing else. Aside from a speck of Wednesday night programming, every show I follow comes on in succession on Thursday night.
My lady prefers Grey's Anatomy, which, regrettably, lasts a whole hour. Very serious plus very long equals unhappy Chappy. Couple this with Private Practice and you have an acceptable form of torture in 37 states.
Those of you who consider yourselves technologically inclined are probably saying, "Well, Chappy, that's what a DVR is for." Yes, my friend, this is a valid point, but you have forgotten that Survivor and Project Runway are already recording! Someone is inevitably going to lose this battle. Consequently, I thank God every day for bestowing the gift of Hulu.
Farting
Here's another that failed to make the list. Turns out, women don't much care for it, especially when one escapes from under the covers. After years of living with dudes and taking pride in my gas, the action is suddenly considered deplorable. I now have to leave the room, unless the dog is nearby and I think I can pass it off.
If Allison does, in fact, poot (my father taught me that this is the lady equivalent of "fart"), then it either has no odor or somehow magically smells of flowers. Therefore, I am always on the losing end of this battle.
Don't get me wrong, I'm very much enjoying the married life, it just takes a little getting used to. The whole process has actually been quite entertaining. Also, the fact that my wife read all this and approved it for the general public is pretty cool.