wifercize wednesday: don'ts for wives

While enjoying an extravagant dinner and witty banter with our friends Ben and Sarah, I found (and read) these two books while in the bathroom.  Correction, I did not read the two books cover to cover.  In fact, I skimmed the first few pages, became uneasy about the amount of time I had been missing from the meal, and took the books with me.

They are now on lend to me to write this special Wifercize Wednesday.

Published in 1913, one would assume (as I did) that these two manuals - conveniently blue and red to yet further distinguish the genders and keep colour sexism alive - would be a laugh.  Outdated misogynistic advice written by an opinionated man who desired to put his wife in order and thought it prudent to write a companion edition for husbands to keep the peace.

The author of both books is, in fact, a woman by the name of Blanche Ebbutt.  In prefaces she writes in both volumes, she appeals to each sex in turn.  To the wives: "I hope she [the average wife] may find it worthwhile to take a few hints from an old hand."  To the husbands: "You are neither as bad nor as good a fellow as you imagine yourself to be...  As for men- well, I have a husband myself!"

I wish I could take the time to write out all my favourites from both books but, as they are only 73 tiny pages each, it would basically mean a re-write and you'd be better off buying them for yourself.  Instead, I'll post some of the best from each category to whet your appetites.  Wives, take note.

PERSONALITIES

Don't expect your husband to have all the feminine virtues as well as all the masculine ones.  There would be nothing left for you if your other half were such a paragon.

Don't put on airs with your husband.   If you can't be natural with him, you shouldn't have married him.

Don't let your husband feel that you are a 'dear little woman', but no good intellectually.  If you find yourself getting stale, wake up your brain.  Let there be nothing your husband can talk about that you will be unable to understand.  

HOW TO AVOID DISCORD

Don't say, 'I told you so,' to your husband, however much you feel tempted to.  It does no good, and he will be grateful to you for not saying it.

Don't keep your sweetest smiles and your best manners for outsiders; let your husband come first.

Don't snub your husband.  Nothing is more unpleasant for lookers-on than to hear a snub administered by a wife, and it is more than unpleasant for the husband; it is degrading. 

HABITS

Don't check your husband's high spirits.  Let him sing a the top of his voice in the bathroom, or whistle out of tune on the stairs, and be thankful for a cheerful man about the house.

Don't think it beneath you to put your husband's slippers ready for him.  On a cold evening, especially, it makes all the difference to his comfort if the soles are warmed through.

FINANCIAL MATTERS

Don't expect to begin where your parents left off.  A little struggle in your early married life won't hurt you.

Don't have any secrets from your husband in financial matters.  Complete confidence is best.  Don't let him have any financial secrets from you.  You are partners, and you have as much right to know what is the balance at the bank as he has.

Don't confuse stinginess with economy.  You can be careful without being mean. 

EVENINGS AT HOME

Don't omit the kiss of greeting.  It cheers a man when he is tired to feel that his wife is glad to see him home.

Don't get the idea that all your husband wants is a housekeeper, or a decorative head of the table.  He wants a companion and when he is at home he doesn't want you to be always somewhere else. 

JEALOUSY

Don't try to excite your husband's jealousy by flirting with other men.  You may succeed better than you want to.  It is like playing with tigers and edged tools and volcanoes all in one.

Don't be jealous, anyway.  It belittles you, puts you at a disadvantage, and, if your husband thinks about it, is apt to make him unbearably conceited.  Nothing makes you look old and worn sooner than jealousy, and nothing makes you more ridiculous. 

RECREATION

Don't forget the anniversary of your wedding.  Keep it up.  The little celebration will draw you closer together year by year.

Don't be afraid to rough it now and then with your husband as a companion.  If he feels that he would like a week's walking tour with you as a chum, don't object that it may rain, or that you haven't a suitable dress, or that you can't manage for a week with nothing in the way of luggage except a nightdress and a tooth-brush.  Enter into the spirit of the thing, and you'll get quite as much fun out of it as he will, and be happier than if he accompanied you to some fashionable resort where you would need to dress three or four times a day.

FOOD

Don't forget to 'feed the brute' well.  Much depends on the state of his digestion.

DRESS

Don't impose your ideas on your husband in matters of individual taste so long as his style is not bad.  He has a right to his own views.

Don't reject your husband's advice on matters of dress without good reason.  Many men have excellent taste and original ideas on the subject.

ENTERTAINING

Don't refuse to entertain your husband's friends on the ground that it is a 'bother'.  Nothing pains a man more than finding only a cold welcome when he brings home a chum.

Don't try to 'amuse' your guest every minute of the day.  If they feel thoroughly at home, the amusement will come naturally.  Don't forget to have books in every room.

 Don't refuse to entertain at all because you can't do it on the same scale as your neighbours.  The 'jolly little party' is generally preferred to the starchy reception. 

wifercize wednesday: mr tickle

In 2006 I wrote about the Five Love Languages.  At the time, Andrew and I had been dating for a total of five months, so I was pretty sure that my results would be entirely different now that we've been married for nearly 2.5 years.  They weren't.

Complete set of results

Quality Time:		11
Physical Touch:		9
Words of Affirmation:		7
Acts of Service:		2
Receiving Gifts:		1

Take the quiz

I began to wonder if our love languages change at all over the course of our life time.  My childhood pretty much consisted of seeking an audience with various members of the family either before, during or after a cuddle, tickle, tackle or wrestle.  Nothing could surpass a road trip.  Endless hours of time together while sitting in close proximity.

How my husband is able to deal with this (especially when his second love language, when last we checked, was "acts of service" and I use my measly 2 less frequently than I should) is a mystery to me.  Thank goodness we both have "quality time" as our number one, because sometimes I wonder if my "physical touch" obsession concerns him.

Last night while we were making dinner I bounced around him (in a display not unlike our chocolate lab when we say the word PARK) and latched to him in a koala hug, possibly injuring his back.  I AM NOT ALONE.  Friends of mine share similar confessions: chasing, squeezing, and cuddling without consent are more frequent among wives than you might expect.

I hear this diminishes once children enter center stage and, wives-turned-to-mothers, our kind spends time chasing, squeezing and cuddling them instead.  Which is handy because babies can't run for the first few months or so.

I loved this book when I was little:

I loved that his arms could go anywhere in the house where he lived.  Upstairs, downstairs, out the front door.  For me, my arms only have to be as long as it requires for me to tuck my hand under Andrew's shoulder or arm.  We call it "plugging in": my love tank gets filled while I sleep.

wifersize wednesday: passive aggressive

In our upstairs bathroom there is a wastebasket. Well, there was. It's impossible to discern where the wastebasket once was since what once filled the wastebasket has now completely overcome and subdued it. It's a volcano of makeup pads, balled up Kleenex, empty toilet paper rolls, hair balls, and Q-tips.

No other garbage receptacle in our house is as mismanaged. It seems as if both Andrew and I are patiently, stubbornly waiting for the other one to break down and empty it.

Once, after I carefully balanced another object on the mountainous pile of waste (it's almost beautiful...like an art installation), I asked Andrew (who was in the bedroom):

"Question. Do you just keep using this wastebasket in hopes that I'll get fed up enough to take it out one day?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Oh. Me too."

In all honesty, Andrew (eventually) empties it about as many times as I (eventually) empty it (which, given the year that we've lived in the house, is approximately one time each), and we chuckled after learning of our bathroom-wastebasket-stalemate. But how often do we use passive aggressive behaviour to get someone to notice, affirm, pity, or perform for us?

There's a website dedicated to it, if you're interested, called passiveaggressivenotes.com. Browsing it today reminded me of the episode of The Office where Pam leaves a note on the office microwave that reads:

"The microwave is a SHARED kitchen appliance.

By not cleaning it up, you are basically telling whoever follows that their time is less valuable, as they will have to scrub out your disgusting splatter.

Sincerely,
Disappointed"

and of the email I sent out just this morning to our all-staff email address:

Could the salt & pepper-napper please return them, unharmed, to the communal kitchen where we can all use them? If you’re looking for a personal set, check here: http://www.custommadeart.com/HortonBeverlyShakers01.htm

Ta ta!
S.

which, ashamedly, is not the first (nor, I suspect, will be the last) passive aggressive email I have sent from reception. I mean, how difficult is it to load a dishwasher, people? How much easier could we possibly make the process? It already WASHES YOUR DISHES FOR YOU.

Probably the best example of palatable passive aggression is public transit. The bus arrives and after waiting over 20 minutes in the freezing cold, or spitting rain, or blistering heat, the doors whoosh open and five hundred irritated commuters shove towards it. But slowly. Almost...politely. As if to say, "So help me, 80-year old woman, I am going to get on this bus and I sure as heck think you're standing well enough out here that you won't need to steal a seat from me once I'm in there, but, BY ALL MEANS GO AHEAD OF ME. I INSIST."

The Wiki definition states that passive aggressive behaviour

"can manifest itself as learned helplessness, procrastination, stubbornness, resentment, sullenness, or deliberate/repeated failure to accomplish requested tasks for which one is (often explicitly) responsible. It is a defense mechanism, and usually only partly conscious"

which is only partly comforting, since it's only partly conscious. But the fact that it's recognized as a defense mechanism is much more helpful. If we spent as much time working out why we are in distress (a wise woman often reminds me: "The issue isn't the issue.") as we spent concocting passive aggressive language, habits, games, and notes we'd probably be better off. And our spouses would know exactly what they're dealing with...instead of having to guess.

I'm guilty of passive aggression on occasion (partly conscious, I assure you) but I've realized that straight forward conversation usually gets the job done faster, and with 87% less feigned smiling. When I get upset by something Andrew does or says (or doesn't do or say), the least I can do is honour him and the honesty of our marriage by telling him that I'm hurt. As an added bonus, I might work out what the issue is behind the issue.

If I'm feeling extra wiferly, I'll even empty the upstairs bathroom wastebasket.

wifecize wednesday: bluetoothing

We had a Couple (WHO WILL REMAIN NAMELESS) over to our house for lunch on Sunday. Both of them are friends of ours, which made for amusing witty banter, and the lemon/thyme roast chicken + potatoes/carrots that Andrew made was deeeelicious (aren't I blessed? I know!).

After lunch we "retired to the parlour" (which is our way of saying "let's sit on the couches in our living room which are right beside our dining room table") to consume tea. Solomon, our 7-month chocolate lab, was busy inspecting our guests' crotches, so Andrew went upstairs to retrieve an old T-shirt. He came back down, tied it in a knot, and handed one end to me. We each pulled on our end, never breaking the stream of conversation we were having with the Couple.

Guy of Couple: "What...are you guys doing?"
Us: [pause]
Guy: "With the T-shirt?"
Me: "Oh, we're making a tight knot in the middle so Solomon can play with it. It's his favourite toy. T-shirt-in-a-knot."
[Andrew ties double knot and we resume tugging furiously]
Guy to Girl: "I think this is what we have to look forward to."

Guy was right, I realized. The dizzying phase of early dateship paves way for the romance of late dateship, which then turns into the domestic bliss* of marriage.

I can still remember the morning after Andrew and I reunited at a friends' wedding, danced all night, exchanged phone numbers, and went our separate ways, and I can remember the song playing in my mind as I woke was "I Hear Music" by Brisa Roché. I can remember the first time Andrew held my hand, in a movie theater, as he asked me if anything was wrong because he could feel my pulse pounding in my thumb. I can remember the first time he kissed me, outside University College, and tripping twice on the way back to the car because I felt lightheaded.

What we have now, however, outweighs all memories of what we had then. It's in the bluetoothing Andrew and I do every day together: gelling our thoughts, dreams, expectations, jokes, advice, anticipations, and prayers, until the two start to become one.

It's in silly things like wordlessly handing someone one end of a knotted T-shirt and expecting they'll know what to do with it.

* See this post's disclaimer.

wifercize wednesday: the toilet seat

Can I just say that this argument has NEVER MADE SENSE TO ME? I grew up with two brothers. Along with my dad, they outnumbered us girls 3:2. Occasionally (see? I can't even remember the exact frequency) I'd find the toilet seat left up and at that point I'd weigh my options, spend a moment in prayer, and take a very brave step:

I'd put it down.

Yes, I've had those moments, bleary eyed and half awake in the middle of the night, when I've mistaken the white orb beneath me for a seat-down one and slipped, OOP!, dipping my bum into the icy depths. This, my dears, is a hysterical moment we can all relate to and it is best to laugh. It's funny. Your bum in toilet water is funny.

I figure that the toilet seat up/down argument (which can not only be found on Wiki and eHow, but also has given birth to this ridiculous study - complete with statistical analysis!) is one of those things that Carol Arnott would say "the issue isn't the issue" about. Really? A toilet seat being up or down? This is what a marriage has come to?

Makes me wonder what couples in rural third world communities have to argue about. A hole-in-the-ground might be the next new treatment in couples therapy.

What I suspect is that husbands and wives, both, are frustrated with situations entirely beyond the bathroom and use the toilet seat as a secret symbol of their unresolved issues.

She: "Put it DOWN. I can't believe you don't care." (control/manipulation)
He: "Oh, I forgot. It doesn't matter anyway." (passive aggressive)

But more on passive aggression tomorrow. Huzzah!