Married People. Pfft.

Today, I take you into a small slice of my Ski Patrol world… a man’s world, a world where you have 4 things to do. Go on a mission (usually involving bamboo sticks or a drill), take a run, patch someone back together, or sit in the shack. This particular day I was stuck in the shack longer than I had preferred, where we entertain ourselves the old fashioned way- talking.

“So your Husband stopped by.” Frank cocked his head to one side with a slightly evil grin.

Clearly he wasn’t talking to me, so I glanced back at the new girl as I shook the snow off my coat. A rookie, she was required to follow either Frank or I around the mountain to learn the ropes- known as our shadow. Of course, we made a polite effort to get to know her, and had heard all about her boyfriend during the course of the morning. I sat down and collected my lunch, a little sad I had somehow only managed to shove a granola bar and Robitussin in my pack. 

“So you’re married then?” Frank found this highly amusing, and leaned back in his chair, ready for an explanation. I sighed and nibbled on the Oats and Honey, wondering if I could escape to the cafeteria without getting caught.

“Uhm, well yeah, he’s my husband.” She mumbled, looking ready to dart back out the door. She had already confessed to me that Frank scared her a little.

“Husband then? So why have we been hearing about your boyfriend all morning?” Frank was clearly enjoying the interrogation.

“Well he is- I mean was- well it’s new- I don’t like to call him that.” She scrunched herself into the corner and squished her face to the window.

“Hmm. Well I told him. You know. That you’ve been running around all day calling him your boyfriend.” This was Frank’s punch line, and he could hardly be enjoying himself any more than if he was in waist deep powder.

“Oooooo! Someone’s in the dog house tonight!”

The other patroller in the room chimed in. Oh wait. That was me. I tend to get a little mean when I’m hungry. Frank started laughing and I turned back to my pack, hoping perhaps a forgotten sandwich was in the bottom.

“Oh so he knows then- that you call him that.” A rather boring day had left Frank unwilling to drop the subject.

Miraculously I discovered a squished protein bar in the bottom of my pack, and pulled it out triumphantly. Bjork blew back into the shack after a lengthy sled run, and plopped down next to me.

“So you did find some extra food! Sweet, thanks.” He snatched my protein bar and took an enormous bite. I glared at him, but he was too busy checking out the noobie chick meat to be bothered with my peeved state.

“Well yeah, he knows, sorta. I mean, I just don’t like it.” She looked ready to leap out the window.

“Why on God’s green earth would you marry a dude if you don’t want to call him your damn husband!” I jerked upright, alarmed at myself. Glancing around I realized that for once, this comment had managed to stay in my head.  

Dispatch came over the radio announcing a wreck, and we all silently gathered our things together, ready to fly out the door. The subject was dropped, but I was still dying to ask the question.

Isn’t “Husband” like the perfect excuse? One actual advantage to marriage? “I need to take a run with my Husband.” “Oh sorry, I can’t make it tonite, my husband is expecting me for dinner.” “Sorry to ask for time off so late, but my Husband planned this last minute surprise trip…” It seems ‘Husband’ carries a little more weight with it than boyfriend. A boyfriend you can avoid. A Husband you have to answer to. I’d abuse the hell outta that one.

I complained about her attitude on the way home with my carpool buddy, feeling more and more like an old fart trying to preserve the sanctity of marriage.

Back at Victoria’s Secret…

“What can I help you find?”

“Lingere. And lots of it. I’m going to Vegas with my lover!”

“Fantastic! Well we have this piece here, and this is lovely, really sexy…” I lead her around the store showing off some of my favorite outfits.

“Ha! Perfect! He’ll love that. My stupid husband has no idea.” She triumphantly grabs at a negligee.

Oh geeze. I didn’t want to know that. So now I’m helping a woman cheat on her husband? I shook the thought away. Not my business. I just sell the stuff. I don’t need to know what they do with it.

“Yeah. Complete asshole. Dumb asshole.” She smiles, holding up a lacie thong.

I realize I sell intimates. And this means sometimes people feel the need to share their intimates. But really? Her teenage daughter is following her around, texting, and acting for all the world that this is completely normal. I don’t even want to know what has driven her to be the worst mother of the year.

She happily carts off $200 dollars of cheating material, while I wonder what possesses people to sign a marriage certificate they don’t really mean.

For me, the marriage category lives in the Switzerland section of my brain. Neutral things I don’t really feel the need to have an opinion on. Then again, when it comes to people you know- everyone has an opinion. Several of my closest friends are married, and at their wedding I felt satisfied, happy and quite tipsy for them. At others, I’m taking bets at the bar on their divorce date. (Don’t act like you’ve never thought about it… I mean $700 ice sculptures? Yeah, that one will last as long as the ice stays frozen…)

I suppose what peeves me are the obvious elephants trotting through the bedroom. Marriage is serious, scary business, and you people taking it lightly are only scaring me further by parading your elephants through my day.  

Back at the Condo…

 

I had made a grave mistake. While relaxing, watching a movie with Calder on the bed, I had let my hand wander off the left side. Little did I know- that hand was being hunted, stalked, and considered for the past 15 minutes. Two white ears twitched in anticipation, two white paws shot out their claws and sunk into my finger.

“YEOW! Good God! What the-“ I snatched my hand back and stuck my finger in my mouth to relieve the sting.

Calder raised an eyebrow and stuck his head over my side of the bed to search out the culprit, who had quickly maneuvered herself to the opposite side- where his unsuspecting foot now dangled. Two razor sharp teeth sunk into the ankle, with a couple quick hind foot kicks for emphasis, before escaping back under the bed.

“OOOWW! EVIL!!! I FEED you! WHY?” Calder tucked his foot back under his thigh, and we both subconsciously scooted towards the center of the bed.

“Why is your cat soo mean?” he whined.

“MY cat? Why is it MY cat when it’s being a bitch?” I narrow my eyes at him.

A paw snakes through the footboard, furiously swiping at the air as we both grab pillows to fight off the attack.

“More importantly, how am I going to retrieve my wine? I left it on the bathroom counter.”

“Babe. It’s a 10 pound ball of fur.” My white knight swings his legs off the side and stands up to head towards the bathroom.

Chardonnay zips from under the bed and latches onto his foot for a quick bite, and zings off into the dark corner. Calder leaps back into the center of the bed.

“On second thought, I don’t think you need any wine tonight.”

“Pfft. No wine? Yeah, that situation would be worse.” I glance at the cat’s glowing eyes in the corner and make a valiant attempt to reach the bathroom. Within a blink her claws were deep in my calf, long enough for me to really feel it, before zipping underneath the bed to avoid consequences. I scrambled back to the Isle de Bed.

I sniff, miffed at my failure. “Yeah, well 2002 was a terrible year in Napa anyways.”

Thankfully, in this relationship there are no elephants in the room. Only one incredibly evil cat.