"Hey, hon, are you thirsty?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Hmm, you sure? You just sorta cleared your throat, like maybe you needed something to drink."
"Um...do you want something to drink?"
"Well, I mean, if you're getting up for yourself..."
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My husband and I were raised in very different families. I guess that goes without saying. He has 3 siblings, I have a half sister that's 8 years older than me. He's the oldest, I'm my dads only child. His parents are still married. My parents are married, just not to each other. His mom was a hint dropper, whereas I am...not.
Hint dropping cracks me up. I had never even heard of it until I married a Neff. Apparently, it's a real disease. It infects you until pretty soon you find yourself manifesting symptoms of hint dropping. "Are you cold?" (Because I am. Turn up the heat.) "Doesn't a popcycle sound good?" (Because it does to me. Get me one.) "Are you really enjoying this movie?" (Because I'm not. Turn it off.)
Somehow I've been vaccinated. I am pure and clean. But I'm suddenly wishing someone would inoculate me with this strange disease.
I'm starting to feel bad. "Hon, change the laundry please. Wash the kids, please. Pick up the living room, please. Get me some milk, please." I feel like the task-master queen of Neffdom. My poor husband never says a word, never complains, even as his toosh is just meeting the soft couch cushion, he'll hop up and perform whatever Her Majesty requires.
But maybe he'd be more comfortable thinking it was his idea to get me that glass of milk. To vacuum up that cat-hair tumbleweed. To mop the floor. To be a short-order cook.
Didn't they write books on this in the 50's? Didn't women head off to Wellesley to learn this very technique? Are they still teaching it? Isn't there some way I can learn to be like Lucy and make Ricky think it was all his idea to go to Dairy Queen at 10:45 at night?
How can I hint to you all for advice, without actually asking for it?
Kelly Out
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