Saturday, August 4, 2012

Ice Cream Quarrel

The French Girl and I finally had our first tiff (unless you count that one time I absolutely broke her heart for a girl that I wasn't even totally sure I wanted to date, in which case I guess it was technically our second tiff).  We didn't really get too far into it or anything because on the outside, it was silly and petty, but under the surface I think we were both coming to a realization.

You see, we've been talking about some pretty serious things in our future.  Without giving away the ending too much (he said, while pretty much giving away the ending), she's going to be meeting my family in like two or three weeks, and I'm meeting her family over Labor Day Weekend.  So with serious conversation comes serious reflection along with some serious realizations.

The petty spat revolved around one simple thing:  Ice cream.  I freaking love ice cream.  I'm honestly surprised that I have yet to contract some form of diabetes because I love ice cream so much.  I usually eat ice cream to the point of sickness, at which point I refuse to regret my stupid decision (because I freaking love ice cream).  I then writhe in my bed in discomfort for the rest of the night, unable to fall asleep due to sugar rush (and a slight-but-smelly lactose intolerance), and I then spend the next day in a sleepy stupor, promising myself that I'll be more responsible next time (but not really meaning it).  It's great!  It really is something that I look forward to when I get my hands on a fresh container of ice cream.  I literally think to myself "You're gonna make me sick and I'm gonna love every second of it!"

But today, The French Girl told me "No!".  She told me I couldn't have anymore ice cream when I told her I was going back for seconds because she didn't want to let me get a "tummy ache" (at which point, she rubbed my tummy).  Then she informed me that I'll thank her later and that she knows better than me.

I was confused at first - what does she care?  I was about to go to work - she didn't have to deal with it.  Then I was upset - does she really think her judgment is that far ahead of mine?  Although eating lots of ice cream is probably an unhealthy thing to do, I'm not overall an unhealthy person.  Plus I'm 26 years old.  If I want more ice cream and am fully willing to accept all the repercussions of it, then what does she care if I eat ice cream?

I did my best to just let it go and not pout, but she could tell that something was wrong and wouldn't leave it alone (I guess I was being too quiet, but that's because I was thinking), so I finally admitted to her that I didn't like being told I couldn't have anymore ice cream.  Then I realized something:

Marriage must be hard.  I've never done it before, but today I began to realize that I won't get to do what I want when I want anymore.  And that doesn't just mean eat large amounts of ice cream.  I won't be able to go to the movies when I want or watch a movie on my laptop before going to bed when I want or anything like that.  I won't even be able to go on a walk by myself for several hours when I want.  There will be another person that I'll always have to keep in mind.  How do people not go crazy with that kind of thing always hanging over them?

I'd like to point out that I don't really mind being told what to do.  If there are dirty dishes, feel free to tell me to wash them.  If the trash is full, by all means, tell me to take it out.  If there's a scary spider in the bathroom, I'll gladly kill it with my shoe and then collect my "just reward" (I'm talkin' 'bout lovin').  Those things don't bother me.  It's when people tell me to do (or not do) personal things that it bothers me.  Don't come into my bedroom and tell me I need to clean it.  Don't tell me I can't sleep in or take a nap.  Don't tell me I've spent too much time on the computer and that I now need to go outside.  Don't tell me I can't have more ice cream.  I looked forward to the day I could do those sorts of things my own way for 18 years and I'm not going back.  I do personal things the way I do them for a reason and having other people tell me that I'm doing them incorrectly annoys me and, after a certain point, upsets me.

The French Girl, during intimate moments when we're telling each other we love each other and stuff like that, often whispers in my ear that she wants to take care of me - that she wants to cook for me and do my laundry and make sure I don't eat too much ice cream and stuff like that.  If I'm being completely honest (which I usually do in this blog), that makes me uncomfortable.  I know she whispers those things in my ear because to her, that's showing affection, and that's fine.  But I'm not really looking for another mother.  I already have one of those and she did a fantastic job raising me.  I'm looking for someone that I can share my life with, not someone to clean up after me.  I'm capable of taking care of myself, so why would I look for someone to take care of me?  I'm not capable of complete emotional fulfillment by myself.  I'm not capable of providing myself with companionship.  I'm not capable of raising a family by myself.  Those are the things I want.  Not a maid or a mother, but a wife.

I often hear friends complain that they have one more child than the actual number of children they have ("I HAVE THREE CHILDREN: A TWO-YEAR-OLD, A FIVE-YEAR-OLD, AND A HUSBAND!").  That's downright insulting and I refuse to let my future wife talk about me that way.  It's not ok for women to think that about their husbands that way.  It's too condescending and I don't think it reflects a good, balanced relationship.  Husbands are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves and aren't completely helpless, and thinking that they are severely undermines everything that they do for a family.

So tomorrow The French Girl and I will see each other and everything will be fine because, really, telling me I'm not allowed to eat too much ice cream really isn't that big of a deal.  I just think it's weird how much introspection and realization can come from such a small and insignificant little tiff.