Marriage.

by Katie on February 9, 2015

Almost nightly, we reach the current point of contention in our marriage. One of us is ready for bed. The other of us has more work or personal business to take care of before calling it a night.

Now, if it’s Brandon who needs to stay up working? All is well really. I tell him goodnight and happily take myself to bed where I fall into a sweet slumber. Until either minutes or hours later when he pounces into the bed, talking in full volume, wanting to carry on a lengthy conversation or list off some things to add to my work list the next day. If you’re like me, and it takes you awhile to wind down and actually fall asleep, you can imagine how well this goes over. If you’re like Brandon and rarely require more than 77 seconds after your head hitting the pillow to be done counting sheep, you have no idea why the other person may be a little frustrated with this behavior.

But none of that is really the point of the story.

The point of the story is related to those nights where I am the one who needs or wants to stay up working on something and my sweet husband is ready to retreat to bed. Because when he’s ready? Regardless of the fact that it may be 8:17pm? His wife best be a-joinin’ him. That’s what he thinks anyway. But seriously. He pleas and practically begs for me to join him, lays on a guilt trip if I protest [Something along the lines of, “Is it really so much to ask for me to want my wife to join me in bed after a long day?” Oh yes. He’s good.], and if all else fails, resorts to an adult version of a temper tantrum if he thinks he won’t be getting his way.

So, after all that, more often than not really, I end up going to bed with him, albeit stomping my feet the whole way. Not even so much because I’m not getting to do the work I planned on, but because of the double-standard of the situation (see above opposite scenario).

Like I said, it’s a pretty common point of contention around here, which typically leaves me slightly, mildly or severely annoyed as we turn down the sheets, depending on what measures and tactics of persuasion happened to be used that night. (Don’t worry, I get over it quickly.)

Anyway, this exact scenario happened a couple weeks ago, and while I was brushing my teeth and washing my face to join Brandon in bed, he went ahead and made himself comfortable under the covers. Only he forgot to pull up the quilt at the end of the bed and mentioned how he was still chilly as I was making my way to bed.

So I grabbed the quilt and spread it out.

“Aw, you walked all the way around the bed to put the blanket over my shoulder even though you were mad at me,” he said.

To which I quickly responded, “You know what that’s called?”

Love. True love,” he suggested.

“No. It’s called marriage. Marriage is what that’s called,” I corrected him.

And it’s the absolute truth.

Also? One of us is clearly more of a romantic than the other.

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