Since I began dating my husband over seven years ago, when we have fallen into disagreement, I have always ended up being right. Not like you have ‘always been right’ meaning you are right more times than not–I have literally ALWAYS been right. When it comes to where to live or what to eat or what to buy or who to trust, every single solitary time, I have been right and my husband has been wrong.
You can chalk it up to my being older than him. Maybe the credit is owed to me living away from home, on my own, since a week after I turned 17. Or maybe it’s because I’m just smarter in general. Who can say? The fact of the matter is, when it comes to a fork in the road, I consistently choose the right path and he consistently disagrees. Luckily (for him), after being wrong so many times early in our relationship, Matthew now accepts the fact that I am always right and does not persist in challenging me anymore.
That is until we entered 2016–the year that everything has gotten flipped upside down and damn near dunked in caramel-colored horse manure!
Since the beginning of the year, my husband has been right not once, but twice.
The first time this miracle occurred was during a dispute over my car. Two years ago I got a brand new car that I 100% loved to drive. It was small enough for me to feel confident driving, yet big enough to let the other cars on the road know not to try to run me over. It was incapable of going fast (which I prefer since sometimes I step too hard on the gas and scare myself) and received very high safety ratings. On more than one occasion I declared that for the rest of my life I would never own another vehicle.
The argument first began when we found out we were pregnant. My husband took a look at the practically nonexistent trunk space and declared there was not enough room for the baby. I looked at him like he was mad. My parents owned a two-door hatch back when I was born and managed with me just fine. Why couldn’t we have a baby in a compact SUV, I wanted to know.
My husband and I bickered on and off about the size of my trunk and the practicality of having a baby in such a ‘small’ car for months, until the day I found the perfect stroller. I called Matt to tell him about it and after gushing on and on about the fact that it was the ONLY stroller I could get to close without the help of a salesperson, Matt asked me how big it was.
“You realize that stroller cannot fit in your trunk, right?”
With those words, the whole world changed. It morphed into a puddle of sheer fun-house mirrored madness. For the first time in the history of the world, Matthew was right and I was wrong.
Initially I tried to dispute the facts, but it was useless. Regular people cannot argue with numbers, much less a person like me who still counts on her fingers. I decided to be the bigger man and congratulate my husband on his achievement. He was right. I was wrong. It was a hard bullet to bite after my nearly seven and a half year streak, but I guess the day had to come eventually. I was confident that lightening would not strike twice.
Until it did just a month later. From the day I got pregnant, I knew I was having a boy. I felt it deep in my bones. When I was hungry, I wanted steak–the bloodier the better. I experienced very little nausea and absolutely no morning sickness in my first trimester. The (almost indecipherable) bump I had until week 18, was very low. The internet and I were in total agreement, I was having a boy. The only one who disagreed was my husband, who swore that I was having a girl. He had no internet research to support his claim, but in his lifelong tradition of being wrong and strong, he insisted that he just ‘knew it’.
Low and behold, the lightning struck twice! We are having a girl. It doesn’t make any sense to me (or the many online quizzes I took), but that is the case. Matthew was right not just once, but twice.
I don’t have to tell you the problems I’ve had with him since that day. Now, with every dispute, I am challenged with the phrase: “Just like you were right about the car and the baby?” You would think the man was a broken record. How is it possible to think being right TWO TIMES IN YOUR LIFE overrules the millions of times you have been wrong? It is unfathomable. Perhaps if the times did not occur so close together he wouldn’t feel as emboldened, but I cannot help but regret ever giving him the credit. Maybe it is because I am an extremely fair person. Maybe it is because I felt happy for him to be right–at last–after years of failure. Maybe it is because I am a fool! All I know is, life was much more peaceful when I was right and he was wrong.
The moral of the story is kids–never let your husband know that he was right. No good can possibly come of it.
DON’T NYAM & SCRAM. BUY A BOOK, NUH! DATING FOR DINNER. THE NEW YORK CATCH. NEW YORK SOCIALITE. NEW NEW YORK. (OR ALL 3-IN-1 NEW YORK SERIES). RED ROCK CAFE. MIDLIFE WIFE.
La Dolce Vita 