My husband lives in a house with three women; he doesn’t stand a chance. The only other male beings in the house are usually cats and you know what we do to them?
My daughters and I are close. We have an unusual bond that I’m not sure many mothers and daughters share; we’re just weird. We have odd, raucous moments of unexplained laughter.
My daughters are extremely witty; they still surprise me and make me laugh out loud. I didn’t expect them to be so entertaining once they grew out of those cute, innocuous years of discovery and observation as toddlers. I don’t know that I’m as quick and witty as my daughters, but I am the one who taught them how to be sarcastic, so I can follow the line of fire.
These moments of hilarity get a bit out of control and pretty soon we’re screaming with laughter, tears rolling down our faces. My husband walks in on these scenes and just leaves; to the neighbors it probably sounds like a domestic dispute. Sometimes he tries to figure out what’s so funny, but by the time the wild laughter has taken over, it’s too late for him to catch up.
Often these sessions of merriment will happen at the dinner table with him right there to observe how it starts. But it happens as quickly and unexpectedly as a car accident so can be difficult to pinpoint where it all went wrong. These are teachable moments as I point out our behavior is not necessarily good manners for public viewing or at a future partner’s home with their parents, which, of course, jumpstarts the glee.
Things have quieted down a bit since my oldest went off to college. Now those moments are occasionally captured via Skype and the jokes and sarcasm fly back and forth through instant messaging. We don’t video chat because we’re usually doing other things while it’s going on.
With just my youngest home, my husband is doing a little better getting in on the hilarity. After school and work, we’re often sitting in the living room chatting about our day. Things are said, reinterpreted or misinterpreted and off we go.
One day, we were going up to take a few things to my daughter at college (she’s only 45 minutes away at DigiPen in Redmond). We had to stop at the store and pick up a couple last minute items.
As we walked into the store, my youngest said, “Can I get some eye primer?” My husband said, “Primer? I have that in my shop. I use it for car parts so they don’t rust or as a base before I paint. I know about primer.” When my daughter explained it was eye makeup for a base for eye shadow (same idea, different product), my husband decided it was safer to follow me.
“Where are you going?”
“I need bleach and feminine hygiene products.”
“Oh.” He hesitated, briefly thought over his choices, then followed me rather than hang out in the makeup department. I grabbed the feminine products from the correct aisle then went to the detergent aisle and grabbed some bleach.
“I’ll hold that. Give me the bleach,” he begged, as my daughter joined us with her makeup products. With his masculinity intact, he followed us out of the store, my daughter giggling at him the whole time.
One point of humor my husband is really good at is making eye-rolling puns (every time we have Caesar salad he yells “Seize her!”). After all these years (17 to be exact), he has finally rubbed off on my youngest daughter. She piped up with a bad pun at the dinner table the other day.
Maybe he has a chance after all.
Gretchen Leigh is a stay-at-home mom who lives in Covington. She is still rolling her eyes. You can also read more of her writing and her daily blog on her websitelivingwithgleigh.com or on Facebook at “Living with Gleigh.” Her column is available every week at maplevalleyreporter.com under the Lifestyles section.
