One of the only fights my husband and I have, and I think have put to rest, is about time. He likes to be late. And I like to be early.
So you’d think the compromise would get us there right on the button. But that hasn’t been the case for the 57 years we’ve been arguing about it. It’s not a heated argument; no throwing of plates, no screaming obscenities, no fisticuffs. But it’s a well-rehearsed theater piece where the two main characters repeat their lines verbatim.
Me: You have 35 minutes before we have to walk out the door.
Him: What time are we supposed to get there?
Me: 7.
Him: So we can leave here at 10 of.
Me: No. I want to leave at 20 of.
Him: Nance, they live five minutes from here.
Me: You don’t even know where they live. And besides, there could be traffic or an accident.
Him: So we’ll be 10 minutes late.
Me: I don’t want to be 10 minutes late.
Him: Well, I don’t want to be 10 minutes early.
Me: If you start getting ready right now, we’ll get there right on time.
Him: Nance, don’t rush me, please.
Me: That’s why I told you you have half an hour to get ready. So you’d start mentally preparing yourself.
(I already know you’re on his side.)
Him: I don’t want to be the first ones there.
Me: When have we ever been the first ones anywhere?
Him: Everyone will live if we’re a little late.
Me: I know our being on time is not keeping all our friends alive. But why do you plan on being late?
And so it goes.
For a while, I tried lying to him about the time, but it didn’t take long for him to catch on when ours was the first and only car in our hosts’ driveways.
Then I came up with what I thought would be the perfect answer to my tardiness prayers. I said, “From now on, you make the plans with the people. You do the emailing back and forth, and you come up with the hour that you two decide. And then you tell me what time I need to get ready.”
You wouldn’t believe (or maybe you would) what happened. The man started anticipating hours before ETA, and giving me little warnings like,” Don’t forget we’re leaving here at 6:15.“
“OK,” I’d practically sing from the bathroom.
It didn’t last long.
One of our problems, as in most long-term marriages, is that the division of labor got very set very early on. He was miserable: “I can’t do this. If you want me to continue doing this social thing, then you have to start shoveling.” (I don’t think those are fair trades, but in his voice I could see he was so out of his comfort zone I didn’t have the heart to push it.) (Now are you on my side?)
So back to my being the event planner in the couple.
Guess what? I didn’t have to go back to anything.
Something has shifted, and it has been an organic shift. No one controlled it. It just happened. It’s a combination of outside forces conspiring … to support me. (Uh-oh, are you back to being on his side?)
Here is what I think is happening.
- It’s summer. Who wants to go anywhere?
- We’ve gotten very old when we weren’t looking.
- And the invitations have slowed to a crawl.
There hasn’t been a fight about time in months.
So finally, at long last, there’s peace in the valley.
Now the only thing we argue about is: Which one of us screwed up our social life so that no one wants us anymore?
