We always hear about God having a sense of humor. I mean have you seen a turkey...or an ostrich...a baboon? But I have proof that is a bit closer to home. Me and my husband. Only an innate sense of humor would have ever put us together. We could not be more opposite. I am convinced that when people get bored up in heaven God says, “Wait! Look! Look right down there. In Louisiana. No not there-- right next to Texas.” And then He flips on the movie projector of our life.
First of all, all you have to do is look at us, and you will get your first clue. I am short, very short, and on top of that I have short legs even for my height. Michael is tall. Almost a foot taller than me, and he has long legs. Like runner's legs. Not me. I have walk really slow legs. When we walk together, if he is walking at normal speed I have to just about jog to keep up. That came in very handy when I was working retail, since I often had to hustle, and I was already in practice.
Next, look at our work space. Michael is a pile-er. He has stacks of what I am convinced is trash EVERYWHERE, and it is all askew. Folders, papers, post-its. They cover every square inch of his desk. My desk? Clear. If I have several things to do, they are in one stack with the most pressing at the top of the pile. That way I can work my way down. Need a pen? I can show you right where it is, but I won't need to because you will be able to see it all on your own. My bulletin board? It consists of only clear tacks with 3x5 cards placed straight down and across—evenly spaced. Oh, that 3x5 card is messed up? Don't put it back. I will rewrite a new one. In the same color ink as the others.
Closets? His: just hang the clothes on the pole. As long as they are not on the floor—we're good. Mine: Pants on one rod, separated by type and color. Shirts? Organized by color according to the spectrum of the rainbow, within each color the shirts are then separated by sleeve length.
Housecleaning? Me? I start at the top and work my way down to the floor and out of the room. I get corners, behind objects: I lift the cook top to get underneath. Him: (looking at stove) “That comes up?!”
Vehicles? Mine: Don't leave anything in it. Other than a bag of recyclable bags in the back. His? Need a place to sit? “Just toss all those papers in the backseat. I'll get them when I sell the car.”
You get the idea. This makes for some interesting “conversations” at our house, especially if someone is coming over.
I spent the first 10 years of our marriage going behind him to apologize. “No really, he didn't mean that the way it sounded.” I mean, the man has NO tact. None. On top of that I seem to be super aware of other people's perceptions, so I am always trying to fix things. I finally just gave up because, well, did I mention he has long legs? He can cover a lot more ground than I can, and it's just tiring.
But, in spite of all these differences (I could go on, but the internet is only so big), I love him, and he loves me—even though my pickiness drives him up a wall. That's ok, though, that's why he has a job. God must have a sense of humor because if He didn't He would have never put us together, and he certainly wouldn't have known how much of a sense of humor to give us, so that we could put up with each other without involving bloodletting in some shape or form.
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