As Wes and I approach our second anniversary, I decided to write a little meditation on pants and marriage, and communication.
Sometimes I think he does it on purpose. I'm almost positive he does it on purpose.
On an average day, work pants and pajama pants can be found on just about any handy surface. Dining room chair backs, sofa back, across the bed, balled up under the bed, over the fan, balled up on the floor in the back of the closet. Pretty much anywhere you might imagine although not ever where you might expect pants to be.
It was frustrating for reasons I couldn't fully articulate but surely he knows this annoys the hell out of me? I mean, we've been living together for over three years now.
A few months ago, we would have to have a Discussion about this. It would have been about the pants, but not really about the pants. You know.
Maybe we have both gotten a little wiser since then. This time, we did not have to waste time with a Discussion about the damn pants. This time I bought a four dollar door hook from Target and stared him down when he prepared to fling his pants to God knows where.
Then we had a conversation that neither one of us could pretend was about pants.
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