Spending time (and money) together

While some argue the pandemic and resulting isolation provide an opportunity for families to develop a stronger bond, it hasn’t quite worked out that way for us.

Today, I sense, there exists a small yet palpable degree of hostility. We were getting along just fine back when I spent a portion of the day away at the office. It was just the right degree of separation; a third of the time at work, and the balance of my day either with her or asleep in my bed. As it turns out, it was a formula my bride always found agreeable. Especially the sleeping part.

But it’s become obvious she liked me more when I spent a portion of my day away.

Apparently, my appeal has a lifespan, a fact that is hard to embrace considering I always thought I had unlimited charm. But it looks like I have to learn to come to grips with the fact that one of my most endearing qualities is fleeting presence.

I suggested it might be helpful if we found joint activities. So, last week I invited her to watch the World Series with me.

It would have been easier had we been cheering for the same team, but she liked the Dodgers, while I was rooting for the opposition.

I was a loyal and devoted fan myself until the Dodgers stabbed me in the back when they moved out of Brooklyn, my hometown, back in 1957.

So it wasn’t so much whom I was for as opposed to against, similar to the way many view the presidential election.

My wife says that continuing such a grudge against the Dodgers is not exactly an appealing quality.

“That’s something I’ve been working on,” I say, hoping to extract a little compassion. “I need time to adjust.”

But I’m afraid my argument fell on deaf ears considering that adjustment I was seeking hadn’t materialized in 63 years.

So after the Dodgers won the World Series and I lost the argument, we went back to our respective TV favorites, me watching the NFL and she QVC.

At least there’s no cost to watching football, whereas her viewing tends to result in an invoice.

So we wind up squabbling about our respective shopping habits, which is an argument I deserve to win considering I buy necessities at the supermarket, while she purchases useless trinkets on the shopping channels.

“Cheesecake,” she argues, “is not a necessity.”

“Do we really need a garden gnome?” I reply.

I maintain she’s too easily swayed by those incessant TV commercials. I had to talk her out of buying pillows, towels and sheets from that “My Pillow” guy, or that giant flexible tape strong enough, the ads illustrate, to bind virtually anything. She argues that tape is something we should have on hand in the event a need arises.

I told her she makes a good argument and it’s a purchase we should seriously consider, just in case I accidentally saw a rowboat in half.