Another story based on my reality.
So, I was just a man on a mission to find a flashlight in the abyss we call our garage. Simple, right? I turned to my wife, my partner in crime, the keeper of all knowledge, and I asked, "Hey, is the flashlight in the garage?"
And she starts off, "You know, I may have..." And there it is, the beginning of what I like to call the "Wife's Tale." It's not a short story, oh no, an epic saga. I'm standing there, trying to remember what I even need the flashlight for. Was I fixing something? Was there a power outage I hadn't noticed because I was too distracted by her backstory about the flashlight?
"If you don't know where it is, just tell me!" I say, trying not to sound like a toddler who lost his favorite toy. Off I stomp to the garage, leaving behind what I now realize was a trail of my husbandly duties.
So, we decide to see a therapist, right? Because I want to be a good husband, I want to listen, I want to understand the full history of every inanimate object in our house. But folks, let me tell you, after a while, I started to think she's holding the answers hostage, like they're state secrets, and she's not ready to declassify the location of the flashlight.
Therapist says, "You need to listen more, appreciate the journey of the conversation." And I'm thinking, "I just wanted to find the flashlight before the next ice age!"
But here's the kicker, folks. One day, I'm sitting there, listening to the tale of the missing flashlight, nodding along, really getting into the plot twists and character development, when it hits me. I don't even need the flashlight anymore. I'm just there for the story. And that, my friends, is marriage. You start off looking for a flashlight, and you end up finding a whole new level of patience you never knew you had.
And to all the husbands out there, remember, it's not about the flashlight. It's about surviving the tale of the flashlight. May the odds be ever in your favor.
(c) Copyright Jim McCullough 2024
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