In Marriage, big boxes can be trouble
This week we feature an exerpt from this very funny story by Cindy Chupack in the NY Times.
Humour is an indespensible asset in a marriage.
In any marriage, even the best marriage, there will come a day when you wonder why you married this person.
It’s hard to fathom at your wedding. This handsome, tuxedoed man is publicly binding his life to yours, and you think, “It would have to snow inside my house before I would ever feel anything but love for this man.”
Well, it snowed inside my house.
I am not saying that metaphorically. I am telling you it snowed inside my house, because a few years ago, to kick off the holiday season, my husband, Ian, decided (even though we didn’t have kids yet, even though I never said I missed snow) that I would enjoy a snow machine.
And it wasn’t flaky snow. Not that I would have enjoyed flaky snow, but Ian did admit later he thought it would be flaky. That’s the problem with ordering things like a snow machine online. You never can be sure if the snow will be just mildly annoying or marriage-ending annoying.
Instead, the snow was sudsy, like a washing machine was overflowing in our upstairs loft and spewing suds down into the living room, where I was flipping through a magazine in front of the fire, having been instructed not to peek while Ian set up The Big Surprise.
I have to admit, I had a bad feeling about The Big Surprise. It came in a big box, and there’s not much I can think of that a woman would want that comes in a big box. Chocolate and jewelry come in small boxes. Clothes come in relatively small boxes. They say good things come in small packages; I say bad things come in big boxes.
Thus I was prepared for something I might have to feign excitement over (a new drum set for Rock Band?). ….
But I didn’t have time to fake a response. I had a genuine response in a voice I barely recognized that shrieked: “What the hell is happening?”
Let me tell you what the hell was happening. The “snow” was accumulating on the floor and landing in giant clumps on the rug, coffee table, leather chair and walls. Real snow does not land on a smooth vertical surface like a wall, but this snow did … until it slowly started to slide down, leaving a thin, wet trail in its wake, like a snail.
I finally yelled, “Stop, stop, stop, turn it off!”
And amazingly, that was the first moment Ian realized the expression on my face was not joy but horror…(continue reading)