So the other day Thea walks into the bedroom where I’m lounging with laptop and asks me if I pooped. I wondered aloud why she wanted to know, and she informed me that bathroom smelled bad.
OK. Here’s my thought process.
Clearly, Thea knows that I stunk up the bathroom. There’s no way around it. We’re the only two who use the bathroom, and she would have to be pretty confused to stink up the bathroom herself and then be unaware of where the smell originated (not to mention that her poo smells distinctly of fresh daffodils… Filipino cuisine is exotic). Since she must know that, by process of elimination, I fouled the watercloset it follows that she was not asking if I pooped to actually discover if I pooped. Why, then, bring up the smell of the bathroom at all?
There are a myriad of answers to that question that I’ll leave for my reader to ponder.
But the whole scenario made me think about marriage and hope. I’m not great with criticism. Actually I’m horrible with criticism. If there’s even a whiff of criticism I feel my irritation rising and defenses going up. And I tend to smell criticism even where it wasn’t seriously intended. Like in the smelly-bathroom-situation. I mean, Thea just wanted to tease me. We joke around all the time. Like the time she didn’t lock the bathroom door so I walked in on her on purpose which was hilarious until she did the same thing to me.
But it’s too easy for me to take things as criticism. Which brings me to hope. I think part of hope is choosing to see the best of a person, and to believe in their best intentions, not the worst.
So after being told that my poo stinks I can a) be offended that my poo is being criticized or b) appreciate that my wife has a scatalogical sense of humour and wants to make me embarassed about normal bodily functions.
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