The real marriage contract
We married men learned years ago about connubial duties by watching "Everybody Loves Raymond" - we rid houses of spiders and unscrew sticky lids from jars. But Raymond never helped with low battery warnings on smoke detectors. Specifically, what should men do about "every 30 second chirping" in the middle of the night that destroys sleeping conditions? Do we need to "man up" or exercise discretion.
Here is an axiom I learned, maybe in physics: the darned things signal low power only at 3 a.m. It must be a programming issue. I need to call my son Fred to find out; he knows that sort of thing. More immediately, I am looking at a couch, loveseat, end table, two lamps, several plants and some crystal that I need to move before I can remove and change that battery, 10 feet above me. Isn't it reasonable to assume doing all that would create more noise than it would alleviate? I urge Editor Mike Patrick to publish a Coeur d'Alene Press survey on smoke detector issues but I need some results in the next 20 minutes. Getting the ladder out of the garage would mean opening the garage door and removing one car - more noise. Is my case for inaction sounding stronger? I need to think quickly because Kathryn will not co-exist with that sound much longer. It is pointless to hope she is sleeping through it; this woman can hear cats walking on carpets. I am not comfortable with my position.
Kathryn is the most tolerant of mates. She will not be terribly happy about being chirped awake in the middle of the night but does not take frustration out on me. Heck, if I lived alone I would have "unhotwired" those suckers years ago; perhaps I would have taken other foolish measures to ensure nocturnal silence, aka domestic tranquility, as guaranteed by the Constitution of these United States. I might also have jar lids and dead spiders and other trophies lying around on stacks of newspapers. The counters would be piled high and deep with scraps of paper, each bearing the first name and phone number of someone I cannot place.
Kathryn cleaned the carpets yesterday while I was fishing with attorney Jim Paulsen of Sandpoint; that seems to me a fair division of labor. She feeds the cats and I empty the litter boxes; OK, maybe I am a little over-worked but since my job comes up less often, why renegotiate? I cook dinner and she eats it; Raymond would understand that one. I remember one episode in which Deborah was roasting a frozen turkey which she dropped on the floor; it must have come from Albertson's since she later did television commercials for that store. In spite of some speed bumps, Ray and Deborah got along pretty well, considering his parents lived across the street. Kathryn and I get along really well, at least prior to the chirping crisis.
Sholeh Patrick writes columns and Mike publishes them. Seems fair to me as long as he does not edit out "Mr. Baldy-Waldy" or "smoothly crowned king," as she called him in one column about chess. In other words, they seem to have it together. I wonder if he's any good at spiders.
Other husbands make me curious; do they open jars, kill spiders and change batteries in smoke detectors? Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Nicholas Sarkozy and Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, come to mind. If those gents would ask, I'd be happy to service their smoke detectors and let them hog the credit. New York, Washington, Paris and Buckingham Palace. Have battery, will travel!
Tim Hunt, the son of a linotype operator, is a retired college professor and nonprofit administrator who lives in Hayden with his wife and three cats. He can be reached at linotype.hunt785@gmail.com.