In every marriage, there are little secret or subtle tests and meters. Broad generalization here, but women communicate in subtlety, and men like a baseball bat upside the head. While I would (almost never) play games or (never) lie to my husband, is it really necessary for me to ask him to take the trash out when I have tied the bag up, and placed in next to the back door? Isn’t the message obvious? This is a fundamental difference between men and women, and not just the two that reside in our house.
So, after my husband steps over the bag of trash by the backdoor for the ump-teenth time, and I get totally annoyed and exasperated and snark at him about is he ever going to take the trash out? His response? “If you want me to take the trash out, why don’t you just ask me?” and he is serious!! A sublime and common example of the fine lines of communication between men and women.
Which brings me to my Porch Pumpkin. There really should be picture with this post, because words will not do it justice. Back in October, the Porch Pumpkin was a succulent, plump and shiny example of vegetable beauty, orange and glorious. It was so pretty that we did not carve it for Halloween, but left it on the porch to help celebrate Thanksgiving, too. So there it continued to sit, shiny and lovely, especially with the fall leaves blowing around the yard and the autumn leaf-wreath on the door. Welcoming and homey.
Then, as the weather started to get colder, and the leaves blew away, there she still sat, perched upon the porch, looking a little out of place with pine boughs decorating the door, but still mostly orange and round. It snowed, and stayed snowy and frozen for more than three weeks. The lovely Porch Pumpkin was now white, but could not really be seen beneath the blanket of snow that covered our yard, and, with Christmas right around the corner, really no one noticed.
Between Christmas and New Year’s, all the snow melted, and there she was again, in all her glory. Like all vegetables that have frozen and thawed, she was now a little mushy, and not quite orange any more. But you know, my husband didn’t seem to notice, and, like the trash bag by the back door, he just ignored her. Poor little Porch Pumpkin.
It is now the last day of January, and the weather has been relatively warm for our area this time of year. No snow all month, and even some days where it was sunny and warm enough for the kids to play outside. There she sits, my Porch Pumpkin, now wearing a coat of mossy green mold, slightly lop-sided, and oblong, no longer any orange to be seen. No longer warm and welcoming, she is now more of a “Get Lost!- Scary People Live Here” sign. Folks give her a wide berth when they approach our front door, and while I am kind of embarrassed, I usually offer no explanation.
I am waiting, you see. Waiting to see what gives first, my indignation at having a rotten, moldy vegetable as my welcome mat, or my husband’s ability to ignore it. I will probably loose this one!