Better Left Unsaid

After 36 years of marriage, I have accepted the fact that men are communicatively retarded.  And of all those communicatively retarded American men, I married their King.  As a result of his disability, he tends to say things that many would describe as thoughtless or insensitive.  Just when I think he can’t surprise me anymore, he finds another level of “Oh no you didunt” to add to his list of things better left unsaid.

A perfect example of his communication deficiency happened yesterday, but as with many of my posts, a little background information is required to completely understand the event.  I am not a very organized person, and I accept that as a part of who I am.  All of my bills are set up on automatic payment, and I have to force myself to put my W-2s and other tax related documents in a designated spot to avoid an April 15 meltdown.  So I have figured out how to compensate on many fronts, but I still suffer from misplaced-item-itis which is an affliction that causes the sufferer to ransack the house periodically looking for a lost article, usually an important document.  Having shared my condition, you might find it odd that I manage the finances, make most of the business decisions, and provide what meager organization can found in our household.  That is because one of the few people on the planet with less organizational acumen than me is my husband, John, and that is why I have spent the last 3 months trying to figure out how to navigate all the paperwork and phone calls that are required for him to retire.  I’m beginning to wonder how anyone actually retires because working until I die is looking more attractive all the time, but I digress.

One of the requirements to even get the application process started is the magic 4 digit pin number.  I’m not sure who invented the 4 digit pin number, but if someone knows my name, address, telephone number, social security number, date of birth, mother’s maiden name, and breed of dog I own, they are entitled to access any of my accounts.  I DON’T WANT A PIN NUMBER!!  Pin numbers are something to be placed in a special secure place that I can’t seem to remember on those rare, but important, occasions when I need them causing a severe case of misplaced-item-itis.

It was during one of those lost PIN searches that John decided to take me to task about my inability to find things by saying, “As many of those PIN numbers as you’ve lost, I’d think you would find a place to put them that you could remember.”  Now my reaction should have been a hearty laugh because this was the quintessential case of the pot calling the kettle black, but for some reason, whether it was stress at work, lack of sleep, or general irritation from doing a job that should have been his in the first place, I didn’t laugh.  Let’s just say he quickly realized that no matter how firmly he believed that to be true, it was definitely something better left unsaid.

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