In my vast and varied experience with men (cough), I've discovered that there are four simple little words that can come out of a woman's mouth that will strike terror into the heart of the strongest...the most stoic...the most macho
"We need to talk."
Why does this seemingly harmless group of words make a man want to run out, catch the first plane to the wilds of Northern Canada and become a hermit, subsisting only on tree bark, bugs and dirt for the rest of his life?
Well, mainly because these four words could mean just about anything
. They could mean "You either need to start picking up your own
stinky underwear off the floor or buy me a new pair of acid-resistant rubber gloves".
It could mean "I've met a man with a huuuuge
dic....uh....yacht and a million in the bank. I'm in love with him and I'm leaving you and our seven kids. Yes, I know
they're all under the age of eight...but YOU'RE the one who's manhood was threatened by the very thought
of a vasectomy. Deal with it".
Or it could
mean "I know we're both in our 50's, have a couple of grandkids and are planning our retirement, but the doctor says we're having twins. Stop that silly sobbing and tell me what color we should paint the nursery".
(Before you ask, NO. No, I'm not. And you should poke a fork in your eye for even thinking
"We need to talk" just sounds...serious
And, as we all know, having a "serious" conversation with most men is kinda like trying to poke a boa constrictor down a gopher hole. At least, that's the way it is around here.
There are some things that Ziggy just doesn't care much to talk about. They make him uncomfortable
. Whenever I get a serious look on my face and say "We need to talk", he starts squirming, little beads of sweat pop out across his furrowed brow, his eyes roll back in his head, turn neon yellow and start flashing AVOID! AVOID!AVOID!...kinda like one of those warning signs on the I-74 upgrade. Then he starts channeling the Three Stooges.Nyuk...nyuk...nyuk!
Now, humor is a wonderful thing. And I'll admit that that's part of what attracted me to Ziggy in the first place. Well...that and his big...uh...ego...yea...that's it. But it's also just plain maddening
trying to discuss something important
going into his stand-up comedy routine.
He's hoping...nay, I daresay praying
...that I'll get so tickled that I'll just totally
forget about wanting to wax poetic about our amazing
. Or whine about my wayward uterus and why no one has ever invented a DIY hysterectomy kit. Or that we really ought
to write up a Living Will of some kind because...well...you never know. I know
we're gonna live forever, but it's just in case of the infinitestimal
chance one of us gets hit by a renegade meteor or eaten by a shark.
He's discovered that most of the time it works, too, because he knows I'm easily distracted...
Ooooo....look! Something sparkly!
...Uh...where was I?
Oh, yea. AVOID - AVOID - AVOID!
Aaaanywho, I've decided to try a different plan of attack...um...I mean discussion
There's currently been something moderately serious on my mind. So the other day, instead of saying those four little words
, I just firmly told him that there's something serious that we need to talk about and that no, it wasn't the "M" word (marriage), thereby setting his mind to rest about that
topic. We're not gonna talk NOW...but soon, and he should start planning for it. And he should go ahead and get the whole Moe/Larry/Curly thing out of his system ahead of time because I WILL NOT BE DISTRACTED. Period.
It just might work. I only saw a little
bit of sweat, his eyeballs only flashed AVOID! once and...I'm not sure
...but I think
I only heard the faintest of Nyuk's
This just might work.