Тонкое искусство пофигизма

           Nightsbeforewegoout,shecomesoutofthebathroomafteranhour-longmakeup/hair/clothes/whatever-women-do-in-theresessionandasksmehowshelooks.She’susuallygorgeous.Everyonceinawhile,though,shelooksbad.Maybeshetriedtodosomethingnewwithherhair,ordecidedtowearapairofbootsthatsomeflamboyantfashiondesignerfromMilanthoughtwereavant-garde.Whateverthereason—itjustdoesn’twork.

           WhenItellherthis,sheusuallygetspissedoff.Asshemarchesbackintotheclosetorthebathroomtoredoeverythingandmakeusthirtyminuteslate,shespoutsabunchoffour-letterwordsandsometimesevenslingsafewoftheminmydirection.

           Menstereotypicallylieinthissituationtomaketheirgirlfriends/wiveshappy.ButIdon’t.Why?Becausehonestyinmyrelationshipismoreimportanttomethanfeelinggoodallthetime.ThelastpersonIshouldeverhavetocensormyselfwithisthewomanIlove.

           Fortunately,I’mmarriedtoawomanwhoagreesandiswillingtohearmyuncensoredthoughts.Shecallsmeoutonmybullshittoo,ofcourse,whichisoneofthemostimportanttraitssheoffersmeasapartner.Sure,myegogetsbruisedsometimes,andIbitchandcomplainandtrytoargue,butafewhourslaterIcomesulkingbackandadmitthatshewasright.Andholycrapshemakesmeabetterperson,eventhoughIhatehearingitatthetime.

           Whenourhighestpriorityistoalwaysmakeourselvesfeelgood,ortoalwaysmakeourpartnerfeelgood,thennobodyendsupfeelinggood.