When Men Whine

We drove up to Pahaska on that fifty mile road that Teddy called the fifty most beautiful miles in  America.  Apparently my husband didn’t agree, which must mean that he has been in Wyoming too long and he has stopped noticing anything beautiful and instead:

  • Complains that the road construction crew brought in white rocks to hold up the road after big spring storms changed the path of the river.  White rocks that don’t match the rest of the riverbed.  Or were they sandbags?  Sigh.
  • Recent fires have taken out much of the forest beside the road, so instead of feeling like you’re driving through a forest, it feels barren and charred trees show where the old forests are.
  • When they widened the road they also took out any trees within 50 feet of the road and blocked off all the little dirt roads down to the river so that you can’t leave the highway anymore.
  • Being able to see Elephant head from the road because of lack of trees.

And then he turned to me and said “I’m whiny tonight.  I should stop.”  Which was exactly what I had just thought in my head, so he either heard me think that or he came to this conclusion on his own.  Either way, sometimes when I sit back and let a person think about what they’re saying, my silence or my Mom look works better than saying:

“Would you just stop whining?  It’s our anniversary and I am enjoying being out of the house for the first time in 8 months without a baby to worry about and without spit-up on my shoulder except for this little patch that’s drying after I rubbed it off with a wet washcloth, and we’re out of cell reception so the girls can’t text me 20 times asking where the toilet paper is or telling me that they’re going to kill each other cause someone ate someone else’s jelly bean off the floor where it’s been for the last two weeks.”

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