There are things I should know, I really should know. I mean, you would think that, being in my second married, I would have an absolute advantage at this. I would medal.
But that’s not always the case.
You see, I’m learning that Vicky is undergoing some amount of stress as a result of her coming CLA exam.
“I’m stressed,” she says.
“I’m really fucking stressed,” she bellows.
“Blood! Now! I must feed!” Sometimes, it’s like she’s a different person.
Men and women tackle stress very differently, I’m learning. For instance, when a guy is stressed, he usually says, with a smile, “Yes, this is a very stressful situation. Thanks for asking. Love ya. Try the veal.”
But a women, in the same circumstance, is also likely to smile and rip your arm off… as a hint…
So, here’s what I’m trying to do for my bride. “Walking,” I suggested, to her overly unimpressed visage. “I could take you for a walk and, hopefully, lose some weight. I could take you for a walk and, hopefully, fit in my clothes again. It’s all for you.”
What I didn’t realize is just how stressed women get. Vicky was as stressed as a woman pregnant… for 17 ½ years. “Yes, I’m in my 53rd trimester – GET IT THE FUCK OUT! NOW!!”
She turned to me with this wild look in her eye, the kind you see hyenas give on nature shows. Scribbled notes and papers filled with highlighter marks flew around her. Her scream shattered the windows, next door. “You want me to walk?! I’m trying to create the world here! The world! And God didn’t leave his fucking notes!!”
I patted down my singed hair and backed away. “I’ll just let you study, then.”