What’s an imbroglio here and there? As there are glimmering afternoons of scintillating conversation and languid evenings blanketed by life’s simple pleasures (Hungryman chocolate cake and Oolong tea), The Boyfriend and I have not been without our sparring moments.
In a moment of Delilah, what are two over-informed disputatious individuals to do? In the little moments when “we” become separated into “him and I” by a Leviathan state of “I’m so right and you’re so wrong,” a massive emotional and mental congress of sorts is needed to galvanize us into a strong and slightly codependent but oh-so-blissful “we” again. We’re not one of those modern clinical couples; we like being an old-fashioned Rick Astley kind of duo. Not too cool for frantic love.
See, The Boyfriend and I have as many things in common as we have differences. Unfortunately, one thing we have in common is that we’re both as stubborn as beef jerky when it comes to our more hostile distinctions. As John Gray would say, in times of conflict a man goes to his cave and a woman is a rather imbalanced wave, rising and falling unpredictably. The Mars/Venus book is pretty sexist, but seriously: if you’re no bra burner, it actually makes sense. Unfortunately, again.
Our little disputes may start with me insisting that the color pink is soooo him (I think of a James Spader, effed-up but hot and misunderstood type of bully); he thinks total closet case. The unilateral ukases that I issue in the Republic of Me don’t necessarily scan well in his cave. Like a guy who won’t wear pink, The Boyfriend is no doormat (unfortunately: again). A total James Spader. Which adds to that delirious hate/love thing.
So what to do when things are just not going my way? Should I just resort to old-fashioned tricks and develop a case of Munchausen’s until he wears a baby pink shirt, white slacks and taupe moccasins (my dream outfit du jour for my Ken) and look like my gay best friend instead to make me feel better? Then the fight would be like Afghanistan: pointless, painful and in need to total rehabilitation. I actually love The Boyfriend for his massive lack of style IQ. It represents everything that emosogynists lack: he’s not shallow, he knows of Paul Allen but not Paul Smith and thinks Gossip Girl is crap but will watch with me anyway (note: he’s not one of those guys who secretly likes it; he really doesn’t) because this is a total sacrifice. This is not a time to play the chapfallen modern damsel. You may not get your way but it’s always good to know that when you fight, you fight good.
Here are the rules:
1. Dont cry. Seriously, I learned that from my dad. He gets nervous and shit when he sees Kohler flushing down my eyes and every sensibility that I have accrued growing up in an eccentric home with highly creative values on display. It’s a girl’s instinct to cry. I mean, I cry over anything! I cry watching Brothers and Sisters or when my dogs piss on my carpets. I’m hysterical like that. So its no surprise that when I don’t get my bratty way, I like to let the waterworks out. Guys hate crying and that’s the most probable reason why they are deadly scared of babies. It’s not that whole existential crap that seizes their courage to procreate. Men are simple creatures: anything aside from food, sleep and hot women are considered the enemy. A crying baby provokes fear and a feeling of uselessness. Not very James Spader. So if you’re really going to get your way don’t freak him out. Crying scares then pisses them off for making them feel useless. Turn the tears into saliva and talk to him in less than three paragraphs; better yet imagine it in bullet point. Yes, men think in PowerPoint presentation! Do not dissertate on your “feelings.” Even loquacious French men who wear pink hate “the talk.” Why the hell do you think it’s the most used tool for presentations in the corporate world? Keep it brief, then let him sleep. I know this is sexist Mars/Venus crap, but you will be the elegant victor in this bout. The Boyfriend, like the blue-wearing male that he is, is affected by my crying but not for James Spader reasons. He actually thinks my crying means something and thinks I’m hurt or something like that. He doesn’t know it’s like a spasm. So he feels bad and this adds an unnecessary bruise to an otherwise feasible challenge. He’s a total gentleman and this calls for acting like a lady.
2. The right moment is everything. You’ve seen it in movies. Girl brings up an “issue” in the car, they fight, then they run over someone or they just die. Where’s the fun in that? I’ve learned that location and time is everything when it comes to having the “good fight” with The Boyfriend. Refrain from doing it before they sleep or after work, as tempting as it is. This is all about self control. This is the moment in the day they have marshmallows for brains and butane for tempers. Bring a prop like a dog or a Frisbee and talk about it while you’re relaxing in the great outdoors. I swear, it’s magical. The Boyfriend and I were locking horns on a particular pissing territory for weeks. Then, one afternoon with the dogs, I PowerPointed my way into what was bothering me without sounding like Sarah McLachlan. He soooo said sorry — like, for real. And I got another dog that evening. Awesome.
3. Say sorry. It’s an absolute essential if you’re psycho. He will never know the Harry Potter spell of having PMS and just being a girl. So if you go mental on him, make like Kanye West and APOLOGIZE! It does a body good.