My husband and I have become that marital stereotype where the man doesn’t listen to the woman. I’ve joked about this before and I’ll joke about it again.
Sunday night, it was a busy news day. There were three shootings (one that involved police), a stabbing, two police pursuits of suspects on the roads, and a homeless sweep that piqued network news interest. Just as I was about to leave work at 10:30 p.m., we heard chatter on the police scanner that would’ve been sensational had it panned out; meaning, I couldn’t leave work until I figured out where that was going.
I got home and Claus asked me how work was. I told him all the above + about my level of stress. He conversed with me as if he were really getting all this. It seemed like a normal conversation.
The next morning, I got up and he asked me, “How was work last night?”
I said, confused, “You mean other than what I told you?”
He got that look where he’s trying to cover his tracks. “Yeah. Exactly. What else?”
Testy wife: “Where did we leave off? What did I tell you last night?”
Husband: “A bunch of stuff.”
Yeah. Why do I even bother?