Posted by: Admin | May 23, 2011

Conversations with my husband

I love my husband. No, really, I do. But after 30 years of marriage we do get on each other’s nerves at times! Take Sunday morning.

Him: My knee hurts.

Me: Oh dear. Why?

Him: (becoming animated) we were playing on hard ground yesterday so the ball was quick-

Me: (interrupting in a desperate attempt to get him to stop) Did you get hit on the knee by a cricket ball?

Him: (ignoring me) I was batting sticky-leg-before-wicket-straight-on (this is just a rough translation, you understand) and I’d just clipped the ball on the outside of my bat-

Me: So you got hit on the knee by a cricket ball?

Him: Smithy was running the crease on the left hand side of the leg-over googlie and the Umpire was biased because he’s only got one eye. Jonesy was giving their team a bit of rag which was a bit out of order when I was 99 for 56 in the fifth division league of gentlemen

Me: (desperately) My ears are bleeding…

Him: (oblivious) yaddah yaddah yaddah cricket…blah blah blah… sixer… scoreboard bat…

Me: Please stop talking!

Him: and the ball glanced off the outside of my knee

Me: So you got hit on the leg with a cricket ball.

Him: Yes

Dear reader, before you write with outrage that I am a mean and  uncaring wife who takes no interest in her husband’s sporting career – you are right. I have tried, truly, to a) understand cricket and b) give a flying fig about it, but it just isn’t in me. Just because we are married, doesn’t mean we’re joined at the hip. You could equally argue that since I glaze over at the first syllable of crick-, he really shouldn’t inflict these details on me. Or that I should be more blatant than saying “Please stop talking” as that is too subtle a hint, but it wouldn’t have any effect. Husband of my heart clearly derives pleasure from talking about his exploits on the cricket pitch whether I am listening or not.

Today, I am going to be driving for five hours with him in the car. I asked him, this morning as I taxied him into the office, “please don’t criticise my driving every five minutes on the journey – I find it stressful and you might find it painful when I thump you.” He took that opportunity to list all my perceived driving faults, in detail, with specific examples. I could feel my blood pressure rising, the vein in my temple started to throb and I had a vicious urge to punch his bruised knee (caused by being hit by a cricket ball, don’t you know?)

So, darling, if you’re reading this, I’m going to put it in black and white: I have been driving for 32 years. I have had fewer accidents than you. I have incurred fewer speeding tickets than you. I drive myself all over the country, generally without incident or upset. If you trust me to deliver us to our destination safely, then keep schtum. If you don’t, then drive yourself. Either way, I am begging you, publicly – please don’t criticise my driving. Or talk about cricket. Or rugby. Or ANYTHING else that involves a bloody ball.

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Responses

  1. This did make me laugh !!! We should have an off button for our hearing, my Mr Right seems to when it suits !!! Happy Driving 🙂

  2. I suffer from exactly the same problem – my partner is a terrible passenger. The only way I’ve been able to subdue him is to comment “well of course it’s taking me longer to stop; I have so much more weight in the car when you’re with me.” Works every time 😉

  3. Mummystime – I’m developing one. Would you be interested in buying if I take it to market?
    Stuart – he wouldn’t hear me. Something to do with the pitch of my voice.

  4. Oh that did make me laugh – I can picture it so clearly.

    I never criticise other people’s driving and I don’t expect anyone to criticise mine. My ex used to :-
    a) take up all of the passenger seat, and some of the space over the gear stick and hand-brake, making it awkward for me to change gear and then huff if I asked him to move over
    b) constantly ‘brake’ from the passenger side
    c) constantly give directions even when I was on my own patch
    d) constantly utter cries of “Christ!” and “Jesus!” if, from his side of the car, he thought I was too close to someone on my side of the car
    e) constantly tell me which lane to be in on the motorway
    f) occasionally tell me when to change gear
    g) automatically get into the driving seat of MY CAR if we were going somewhere together

    In the end I just let him do all the driving, even if it was hundreds of miles and we should have shared it. I also eventually banned him from driving my car altogether as he was constantly knackering the gear box.

    AND I could change a wheel, oil, sparks etc and he couldn’t.

    I was once in a car with a boyfriend many years ago who kept up this constant stream of ‘advice’. In the end I stopped the car in the middle of the road, threw the keys into someone’s garden and told him to fucking well drive himself home. Our passengers were a little startled. We split up.

    Glad to have got that off my chest. I can’t say these things on my blog because my Ex reads it everyday and it would cause unnecessary upset. Thank you for being a channel for my bile (that something like being a channel of your peace, but more secular…)

  5. […] It works, I think, because we have a system.  He cooks; I eat. He makes money; I spend it. I talk; he watches the cricket (for more on this, see “Conversations with my husband“) […]


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