Does marriage change a man?

Family Man


 

 

When I was 18 years old and single, I never thought I’d ever say the words, “You know what soap I really find disappointing? The Afternoon Apple Picking scent. I had such high hopes.”

But the other day those were my exact words, and I had to wonder what my wife did to me.

She and I just celebrated our 17th anniversary, and it’s done something to me, or so I was thinking as I sat in a hair salon waiting for her as an entire pit crew did her hair.

“It’s gonna take how long to do your hair?” I asked. “Three hours?!” Three hours was out of the question.

“OK,” I said, clearly a man who’s been married almost two decades. Then I sat back in my chair and thumbed through a People magazine.

Even the trip to the fluffy breakfast place was proof marriage was changing me. A single man wouldn’t hesitate to put his doggie bag of leftovers on top of a manure pile, but I watched a guy bring his food into the men’s room and it bugged me.

 

 

“Why would someone bring food they’re going to eat later into a bathroom?” I said to my wife. “That’s ridiculous.”

The other day, my son— who’s 14—texted his girlfriend using all caps.

“You can’t text your girlfriend in that tone,” I said. “It’s like yelling at her.”

RIDICULOUS!

These are all things I shouldn’t care about, but 17 years ago I got married and now I do.

Remember that guy with that doggie bag in the bathroom? I only witnessed that scene of ridiculousness because the restaurant’s waiting area is situated outside the restrooms, and from where I sat, waiting for my table, I could see the urinals. Now why is there no wall or partition separating that sight from the waiting guests? I don’t want that image every time the door opens while I wait for my eggs Benedict.

And as much as I wanted to keep these “married man” thoughts from entering my mind, I couldn’t do anything about it. I had to accept it.

There’s no avoiding frustration when merging onto another freeway during rush hour and there’s a line I’m waiting in and other motorists decide they don’t want to wait in line like everyone else, so they cut in front of someone ahead of the pack. That’s ridiculous. Am I wrong? Or am I so far into my married man-ness that I can’t see it?

Then there’s that time at Costco when I saw someone park in the cart corral because it was open and close to the front door. Ridiculous.

Later that day I saw someone returning two tiny pieces of totally charred tri-tip in a Ziploc bag with claims that the meat was too tough. Really? I thought. You burned it. More than ridiculous.

Self-checkout, where we don’t get paid to ring ourselves up; gas prices; the lower freezer drawer that wrecks my back every time I have to bend down for something I know is buried in there; ketchup on hot dogs (who puts ketchup on a hot dog?) . . .

These things are just some of the things that are ridiculous to me. But do you know what I realized bugs me most? I realized that 17 years of marriage really has nothing to do with the way I see things. Looking back, I think I’ve always had this problem. I guess I can be ridiculous like that.

There is, however, no explaining the three hours I waited in the hair salon reading a People magazine.

Email Michael Picarella at michael.picarella@gmail.com. To read more of his stories, pick up his book, “Everything Ever After,” at MichaelPicarella.com.