You Tell Me

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They might have told us that timing and delivery are key.

When my husband and I were first engaged, close friends revealed a tactic that helped diffuse their squabbles. When presented with an annoyance of the marital variety, one would say to the other, “Who cares?” Seemingly, the tension then dissolved, highlighting how trivial some issues can be.

We were relative newbies to coupledom and vulnerable to well-meaning advice-givers. We wanted that elixir, the mysterious superglue that keeps partners together no matter what.

One early morning, getting out of bed and blindly treading to the bathroom in the darkness, I tripped on a large speed bump in the bedroom. I stumbled, stubbed my toe, my ankle turned in at an angle it shouldn’t. Cursing and then opening my eyes fully now rudely ripped from the twilight of just waking up, I saw the speed bump was discarded shoes, dirty clothes and socks from the day before, a common occurrence we had discussed previously. I oh so delicately crafted my request with a loud, “Could you pick up your shi** please!?”

From underneath the safety of warm blankets and a bed a few steps away, a muffled voice said, “Who cares?”

There was a pause. I blinked and then gathered a large breath, like that behemoth monster face in "The Mummy" who blew up that tremendous windstorm…

This incident taught us some things. For one, it affirmed that I am humorless in the morning. I might have been more receptive after a few cups of coffee. Also, we learned that this little catchall phrase didn’t work for us. Because obviously I CARE THAT’S WHY I AM SAYING SOMETHING. SHITHEAD.

I think of this incident now when I browse the parenting magazines that stand at attention at the gym and when I hear couples “experts” on He Said/She Said segments on the “Today Show.” “A woman really wants…,” says one. “What men hear is…,” counters the other. Who are these people anyway?

Ten years into our marriage, Hubby or I will now sometimes say, “Who cares?” but only in jest. “Who cares?” is our nuptial hot sauce, to be used sparingly, with forethought. I’d like to report that Hubby now puts his clothes in the hamper but alas, that would be an untruth. I’d like to say that I can let little things slide in the wee hours before my coffee, but nay.

I’d like to say that I can let things slide period. I’m a work in progress, too.

That friendly couple with the marital advice? They got divorced a few years ago.

"The Mummy" trailer, circa 1999: