What is it with men when they marry and become fathers, that they become repetitive and predictable in so many irritating ways?
Our children to this day know that any trip to a certain area of Queensland’s Sunshine Coast will result in a Mr FD nature lecture on the sundews that grow in the area. Every beach holiday he would go on and on about looking for sundews with the children, and each holiday he would be shouted down. No child wants to wander the damp boggy sites when the beach beckons!
Finally, in their teenage years a child, or two agreed to go search. They couldn’t find any sundews, though Mr FD was confident they were in the right area. Touché, Mother Nature, touché!
He doesn’t mention the plant species anymore, and all anyone has to do now is mention the word “sundews” for the entire family, minus Mr FD strangely, to share a Big Jolly Moment.
Many of Mr FD most irritating moments are connected to cars. Any sighting of a motor bike rider while trapped in a car with Mr FD with result in an anthropological explanation of the cultural differences between “bikee” and “biker”. It also results in piercing headaches for those forced to participate for yet the millionth time!
Not all predictable irritations are vehicular however. Another one that Mr FD has honed over the years is exhibited when I ask Mr FD not to mention something to a relative or friend, for he has no stop or pause button. For example if I said “There is no need to mention XYZ to your sister” and he thinks it is HILARIOUS (no, it isn’t and never will be) to announce as soon as we arrive “FD said not to mention XYZ” and of course sister then asks “What about XYZ?” and it goes down from there.
Today’s particular transgression did however relate to a car. Mr FD’s car in fact. Mr FD drives a Subaru Forester (4WD). I drive a Honda Civic Hybrid. Daughter2 borrowed my car to visit her Beau and meet his parents over the weekend. So, I drove Mr FD’s car to the supermarket today. I don’t drive it often, but I do when I need too. I needed to today.
Not long after my return, after we had unpacked the groceries and Mr FD had parked the car back in the garage (I refuse to back it out, or park in the garage due to the obstacle course of boxes and tools in the garage); Mr FD launched into his routine.
“Did you drive a very nice car today?” he asks as though he is speaking to a small child or simpleton. (Be careful which description you choose to visualise)
“Yes, I did.” In my head I hear this subservient voice answering, “Yes I did, Daddy Sir.
“It drives very well doesn’t it? It drives better than other cars doesn’t it?”
Now, Mr FD has had his car about 3 years now, and I am pleased that he appreciates it. Heavens knows we are still making repayments on the damn thing! But this was the time that broke the camels back.
I looked out of the window and imagined impaling Mr FD on the neighbour’s rooster wind vane and letting him bake and spin. I might even pray to the Big Whatever for an unseasonal westerly gale to spin him all the faster, I thought.
“No I didn’t” I snapped. “It was horrible! In fact it was the worst car I ever drove.” I walked from the room and stood on the patio for a moment.
Returning I tried to calm down. “Let’s just say that we own three very nice cars (including Sons in the tally) and we appreciate then all. Let’s leave it at that!” Deep breath. Three deep breaths. Five deep breaths and a sigh…
And the voice in my head continued, “but if you ever say that again I am going to rip your arms and legs off, toss them onto the driveway and drive back and forth until they are mush. In your car!”
I took a nap.
Funny. I can hear a lot of me in this.
I think with some men it’s age.
I’ve asked Gill to do the kindest thing if ever I grow a pigtail or a Mexican moustache, start craving a large red motor bikes or a small two seater soft top car. I’ve said make it quick and painless. Quickly and from behind.
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As I tell Mr FD “Not a jury in the world would convict me!”
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Ah, yes. I am back to work today and should be safe from any of the homicides. Suicide, however, ….we shall see how the day goes. 🙂
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I have three more weeks of holiday and I am already depressed just thinking about returning to work!
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Does this hold good for women too? Recently in a fit of I-hate-middle-age rage, I chopped what little hair I had, and now look worse than I did before. If middle age is like this, I shudder to think of my sunset years.
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Oh I am sure it does… not me of course!
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Oh My. Happy Holidays FD!
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men can be so irritating. Me and mine would get on better if he would wear his hearing aid. Its nice though when you can look back and laugh as a family having built memories in the way only people who have known each other so well and so long can.
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Hearing aids are strange things- Mr FD’s father could never hear when we spoke to him, but if we were in another room and spoke “about” him he seemed to always hear!
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I really like your blog. Well done. I thought I’d stop by since you were at The Breakfast Club and now you have a new follower. I live with a “repeater” as well. Good luck with that. Lucy
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Welcome, and thank you!
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We just do all these things to stimulate intellectual discussion with those we love so dearly FD. (I couldn’t find a suitable emoticon to add at the end of the sentence)
Enjoy your holidays and the New Year.
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stimulate intellectual discussion – stirring the lizard as Mr FD calls the approach!
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Your problem is that you are too nice.
I just stop listening.
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agreed!!
i would have treated him as a tractor tire and flipped him across the room!!
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oh, hey, sundews are cool. though not cool enough to hunt.
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I would have to do some serious training to achieve that – or raise my anger a level!
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If I don’t listen he repeats – and repeats!
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What is it with men when they marry and become fathers, that they become repetitive and predictable in so many irritating ways?
Why a generalization to all men?
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Oh you are a serious one! I guess I have been trapped by too many men telling me the same stories over the years…
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I figured you must have been TRULY IRRITATED with Mr FD when you wrote this, Dancer. Not many women I know of make sweeping generalizations about men unless they’re pissed off at them. Can I assume it was the case here? In defense of all men, they don’t all become irritatingly repetitive and predictable when they marry and become fathers. However, the few that do are giving many of the rest of them a bad name.
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My children pointed out that I also do that—bring up some ancient rumination and proceed to wax fondly on that over and over and over again…. I told them finally to just whack me in the head if I do it again. Honestly, I think it’s a sign of creeping senility combined with a desire to appear wiser and more authoritative than one actually is. Women are generally too busy running the household to go on like that, but I find with an empty nest and idle hands I dangerously creep into the “arghy barghy” mode, as my son calls it. Maybe Mr. FD and I need a hobby like knitting or needlepoint to keep us occupied.
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I was only just telling Mr FD that many men knitted during WWII…
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MMM… I would love to hear Mr FD on the subject of sundews. Listening to my good friend (and ex-English lecturer) Mike Kirkwood on the subject amid high tarns in the Lake District was one of the most memorable experiences of my life. He started talking about Darwin, volcanoes and went on to touch on some of the history of the Caribbean.
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I truly laughed out loud. I enjoyed picturing the impaling, because I’ve had similar thoughts for family members. Cheers!
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