I don’t know a whole lot about marriage yet. There will undoubtedly be many more lessons learned (some easier than others) between now and “forever”. But what I have figured out is simple, and invaluable: Unless you’ve just repeated the glorious news that the two of you won the lotto this morning, your significant other pretty much never wants to hear the words “I told you so.”
It doesn’t go down well between parents and children. It goes particularly unappreciated when children mention it to parents. I won’t even start on how unpopular it can be among siblings (trust me on that last bit). And those reactions are usually enough to keep the majority of us from ever using the aforementioned words on a friend.
No matter what kind of havoc you may have caused by using said statement on any of the above, you ain’t see nothing until you’ve tried it on your spouse. Which is why The Husband and I spend approximately an hour a week shopping for basketball shoes. Every week.
Long story short: The Husband found the ideal pair of shoes November 7, 2008 (but who’s counting?). Right shape. Right colour (surprisingly important where basketball shoes are concerned). Right size (not easy when kitting out a man with size 13 feet). Despite this remarkable combination of stars aligning and angels chorusing on high, The Husband still made the fatal error of electing to “keep looking.” He did this regardless of my persistent pleading to reconsider – followed by the ever-more persistent urging of two witnesses, who shall remain nameless for their own protection (although I do thank them for their efforts).
Nearly eight months later, we are still looking for shoes. It’s not just the focused missions we go on that are making me crazy (including two – count ‘em – cross-border shopping excursions to no avail). It’s more the fact that any time we are remotely close to any kind of sporting goods store, we have to stop and stare- trans-like – at the Magic Wall of Shoes, usually without even trying any on.
What’s worse, when The Husband does test out a pair, he invariably finds something disappointing in them. Most recently, he’s identified a funny clicking sound he feels would be distracting on the court (insert suppressed expletive of your choice here).
When The Husband recently arrived home looking particularly sheepish, it didn’t take long to uncover the reason: after breaking down and buying some “not-quite-perfect” shoes in secrecy, he discoverd they were completely inadequate at the big game (insert more expletives here).
And with every store we continue to visit, that little phrase you know I want to scream gets closer, and closer, and closer to bellowing out of me like a foghorn on a dark night.
Until last week. As we morosely left yet another shoe store empty handed, The Husband shook his head, and quietly, ever so quietly, whispered “You were right – I should have gotten those shoes when I had the chance.”
Which is preciesly when – and much to my own shock – something else happened. I smiled, and suggested we try one more store before heading home. And he smiled, too. And the unsaid remained unsaid, and relief swept through both of us as we walked on together, our feet still tired, but our hearts just a little lighter.
It takes a lot to make a woman really hate shoe shopping. But sometimes, you learn something in the most unexpected of places. Like the fact that I don’t have to say I told him so about the shoes. Just like he didn’t tell me he had told me so when my failure to clean our oven resulted in a (small) fire. And although honesty is always the best policy, sometimes there is more truth about your relationship in what you manage not to say.
That’s what I’m keeping in mind from here on in. Especially given the fact that I just learned basketball shoes only last about eight months before they need replacing . Which means we’ve got a whole lot more shoe shopping ahead of us between now and forever. A whole lot more indeed.
