Shaken, Not Stirred

The real work of two people blending--the behavior stuff--is where things really get interesting. Because after so many years of being by yourselves, no matter how much "Us" paint you throw on top of it, the old "You" still shows through. And that's usually not a good thing.

A lot of guys think the highest compliment they can pay a woman is to treat her like "one of the guys". The whole "Treat others as you would be treated yourself" rule becomes "Treat others as if you were by yourself." They figure, "Surely we're beyond the silly formalities, the need to be civil. Let's relax. Be ourselves." And the women are thinking, "Let's not." Because we know where this leads.

While lying in bed: "Hey!!"

"What?"

"Did you just fart on my leg?"

"Sorry. I didn't know you were there."

See, when you are by yourself, you apply your own standards. It might not bother a man to stand in the middle of the room, drink 32 ounces of club soda, and belch out everything you've eaten since Fall. His Self may not care. Others, however, may.

And if you're with another person all the time, like my husband and myself, every repugnant component of your life must, by definition, happen in front of the other person. There's nowhere to hide. Ever.

So you learn to accept each other. Your best behavior is now and forever reserved for outside the house, and once you're inside, you're free to be the repellent American you really are. That's an implicit understanding. "I know all about you, you know all about me, and it'll be our little secret."

You become a little team. It's the "two of you" against "everybody else". And you look out for each other. Your partner becomes the one person in the world you can go over to and say, "Do I have anything in my nose?"

That's your mutual job: protect your Ugly Truths from everyone but each other. Which is kind of nice, actually. Here is someone who will not only be honest with you, but whose love for you is so great it can withstand looking up your nose. And then they go right back to loving you as if it never happened.

It's ironic that Everybody Else--to whom you owe nothing--is spared from having to see what's in your nose. As if they deserve better. But your partner, the very same person you love more than all others, gets to look right in there and investigate personally. That's their little privilege. One of the many bonuses for signing on for the long haul.

To Spoon, or Not to Spoon

Theoretically, marriage is all about two people becoming as One. But in the real world--and let's be really clear about this--you ain't One. You're Two. And there's only so much two people can blend.

Like in bed. For all the advantages of sleeping next to another person, it's not always easy to figure out where everything goes. And before your minds step right into that gutter, I'm talking about arms and legs. Arms and legs that didn't bother you all day are suddenly a burden.

Many people opt to minimize their Limb Placement decisions by sleeping on their own side of the Team Bed, an approach known as "Individual Free-Style Sleep". But even here there are choices to be made.

My husband is a big fan of the popular "One Arm Across Your Forehead, the Other Hand Resting Nicely on Your Groin". (When I questioned him about this one morning early on in our relationship, he stated, "Nine out of ten men sleep with at least one hand guarding their crotch. Not that this really protects anything, but if anyone tries to attack or pilfer, you're at least notified, and have a shot at dissuading them." I thought he was kidding at the time. He wasn't.)

But the real challenge is when you have four arms and legs to find homes for. Not so easy.

You got your "Her Head on His Chest, His Arm Around Her Shoulder" model, noted for it's easy-access Chest Hair Fondling; there's the "Face Each Other and One of You Wrap Your Upper Leg Around the Other One's Legs," or the easy-to-remember "Lie There on Top of Each Other Supporting Your Partners Body Weight With Your Own Rib Cage," which again--effective for conversation but not really suited for lengthy, sleep-oriented couplings.

For sleep, of course, you have the classic "Spoon" and "Reverse Spoon, both enjoyable, but tough when it comes to breathing. One of you will suffocate, and I've always believed there is no point in being cozy if you are dead.

Then you have the Thermal Level to contend with. Not only are two people in the same bed never the same temperature, they're not even close. One is freezing and the other is boiling. There is no middle range. And you're both upset that you're partner doesn't see it your way. "How could you be cold?" he asked me. "I'm sweating rain forests here...come on, be like me. Be hot." The contention being that if the other person is uncomfortable, they should at least be uncomfortable in the same thermal direction as you. Gee, okay honey.

Laziness Part III

The problem is, when two people live together, there is no more Business of Your Own. Your Own Business is closed. You've merged and gone public. You have to run everything by your partners. And if there are too many conflicts of interest, the business may go under, freeing the partners to once again open up smaller concerns by themselves.

Like all businesses, couples engage in endless meetings to discuss areas of management concern and division of labor.

"You know, we really should call the post office and tell them to hold our mail while we're away."

"We? You mean me, don't you?"

"No, I mean we. I didn't say 'you'. I said 'we'. You or me."

"Oh really? Are you going to ever call the post office?"

He takes a moment to think. "No."

"Then you mean 'me', don't you?"

"Yeah."

Sometimes it works out well, and certain household responsibilities fall natural to those who like doing them.

For example, I like to pack suitcases, He likes to unpack them.

I like to buy groceries, he likes to put them away. He does. He likes the handling and discovering, and the location assignments. The Jenga-ing of the cupboards.

"Cans--over there. Fruit--over there. Bananas--not so fast. You go over here. When you learn to not go bad so quickly, then you can stay with the rest of your friends."

There are things that nobody really likes, but one of you hates more than other person does.

For example, someone has to take out the dogs in the morning. Now, no one wants to get out of bed. But if you understand my husbands affection for Sitting, multiply it a couple of times and you can imagine his enthusiasm for Lying Down. If he's Lying Down, he really likes to stay there.

So this particular task falls, by default, to me.

But there is actually a more complex negotiation at play here. You see, sometimes our wonderful dogs don't actually make it through the night. We occasionally wake up to find things on the floor that hours earlier were inside our dogs. He doesn't enjoy cleaning this up. But I hate it. I mean, I really hate it. I would rather not continue my life than be involved in this.

One morning, one of our dogs was sick and left a particularly repulsive souvenir at the foot of the bed--a combination of grass, raspberry yogurt, and liner notes to a Ray Charles album. I, in a pathetically last-minute plea bargain, blurted out while pointing a shaky finger towards the mess, "I will take them out every morning for the rest of our lives if you clean up whenever they do this."

Sold.

Being a man who knows a good deal when he sees one, he jumped up, shook hands, and started cleaning up. After all, the dogs only mess up in the house once in a while, but they have to be taken out every morning. He thought it was a sound investment.

It was only later, that while he was straining dog puke from a sponge, that it hit him: if he's in charge of cleaning up future In-House Accidents, there's no real incentive for me to rush the dog out of the house every morning. (I was wondering how long it would take him to figure that one out.) It's not my problem.

So once again ladies and gentlemen, you see how even when negotiating in the best of faith with someone you love, you can get badly, badly burned.