Picture this, it’s a Saturday night, it’s rainy and cold and Tim and I are cuddled on the couch watching a cheesy Jennifer Aniston movie and drinking wine. When the movie is over, and we are fairly intoxicated and weepy, we decide this would be the perfect time to have a heart felt conversation. We talk about life and insecurities and bad marriages and what we want from our future. Or at least, I do. Tim sits there with a sympathetic look on his face nodding in agreement and holding my hand. So I say to him:
Me: Do you have anything you want to say or share?
Tim: I am just letting you talk and listening to what you have to say.
Me: Ok, that’s very sweet of you, and I appreciate that, but do you have anything to add?
Tim: What do you mean?
Me: *an exasperated “are you fucking kidding me” look on my face”*
Tim: I love you.
Me: A conversation is between two people and includes equal dialogue. If the conversation only includes one person they call it schizophrenia and they take you away in a jacket that hugs you all day long and give you happy pills.
Tim: …….
My point exactly. And they wonder why 25% of marriages end in homicide. I don’t want to end up on Snapped in an ugly orange jumpsuit, using melted down pencil lead for eyeliner and raspberry jam for lip gloss. It’s like conversation intercourse, only wearing beer goggles and talking to someone who will not look pretty in the light of day....and sobriety.
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