Observing My Husband in His Natural Habitat

If women’s brains are a bit like hamsters running on a wheel, it should be said that men make the most delightful lab rats. Women are, after all, natural born scientists, the whole world like our laboratory. For the most part, we are always observing, experimenting, testing theories, and on rare occasions, proving ourselves not only wrong, but downright stupid.

Science, registered trademark, is a compulsion of mine. I could not stop observing and testing theories even if I wanted to. Naturally biology, the science of love, is my favorite. Observing people can be quite fascinating.

I am compelled to document and share this week’s research, even though my husband would likely kill me, metaphorically of course, if he knew I were blogging about him. Regardless, in the interest of science, risks must be taken, sacrifices must be made.

Monday, 4 AM: test subject appears irritable, uncertain if this is some kind of territorial thing or due to our kitchen being too small. I wisely retreat behind the purple lilies in the dining room to observe from a safer distance. Now camouflaged, invisible, I resist the urge to intervene, even though the test subject appears to be making coffee all wrong. So very wrong. So. Very. Wrong. I am now practically sitting on my hands, resisting the urge to speak, watching my emotions float by while I desperately seek to regain my objective brain….

Monday 4:20 AM: the introduction of coffee to the experiment seems to have had a calming affect on him…and on me. Subject is now in possession of the remote control, stalking TV channels like prey to be hunted. I hear snatches of conversation as he methodically rejects each one. I inadvertently glance at the remote. He catches my eye and growls softly. Yep, I have good instincts, that territorial issue I observed in the kitchen? It’s a real thing. Got it, do not even look at MY remote.

Monday 4:35 AM: The sound of his coffee cup hitting the marble table startles me. He does it again as if he’s knocking two sticks together trying to make fire. Subject has apparently not yet developed any language skills. Perhaps in another hour… I sigh and take his cup to the kitchen for a refill. Prior observation has taught me that his cup will continue to rattle on the table every few minutes if it doesn’t have something in it. I don’t know what possesses me, but I bring his cup back and slam it down nearly as hard as he did. He glances up and grins at me, eyes twinkling. It’s a smile that lights up the room, a smile I would die for. I speak the first words of the day. “You’re such a jerk,” I say, but that’s not what I’m thinking at all.

Monday 5:40 AM: He’s calling me again, from the farthest part of the house. I weave my way past shoes on the floor, stacks of folded clothes, past the washing machine, through the kitchen, across the vast expanse of our dining room, until finally I arrive at our front door. He smiles again, that smile I live for, and says sweetly, “would you like the remote?” Wait..is the subject offering me his most prized tool?? There is some sort of ritual happening here that I do not understand, but I carefully reach for the remote before he quickly snatches it away. Oh, I get it, a game! I love games. Since I do not know the rules of this game, I decide to distract him with a kiss and sneak the remote out of his hands. It works! Mission accomplished.

I return to the house, now in full possession of this home’s most valuable asset, the TV remote. Alone now, I pour myself another cup of coffee and stare at the thing like a mystery waiting to be solved.

I scratch my head and realize I am completely clueless as to it’s purpose. I point the thing at the television and as if in perfect synchronicity, a perky news girl announces, “studies have proven that in healthy homes, mother’s control the remote 68% of the time.” I ponder this bit of information for a moment, imagining shooting the beast with a tranquilizer dart, wresting the remote from his unconscious hands. 

Observation has taught me that even when sleeping, the subject has one eye open and can move surprisingly fast. Perhaps like one of our modern day fem heroines, I could don a cat suit and drop kick my way to the remote?

I smile coldly, suddenly aware of the power of what I hold in my hands. Healthy homes, indeed. How dare you, my little twit? I aim my weapon at perky news girl and cut her off mid sentence, smirking as she dissolves into a million tiny pixels......