My BFF “J”, always concerned with keeping my mental faculties sharp, occasionally asks me thought-provoking questions. This week’s question was “on a 1-10 scale, what do you rate yourself as a wife?” Not as a human being, mom or any of the other roles I have in life – just wife.
I went through the mental checklist of my wife-ly duties including being supportive, faithful and accepting. Also, Banker Husband’s shirts, that apparently can only be ironed by myself, popped into my head. Then I threw in dinners (also known as ‘food preparation’), bearing and raising children, keeping a clean house and earning money to make our lives better. I had decided that I pretty much walk on water.
“Well”, I said, “I’m not sure. My report card is almost 19 years late. I’m going to give myself a 9 (1 point off for occasionally complaining, pouting and being a pain), but I really wonder what my husband thinks. I think I’ll ask him to rate me too.”
Okay, so I freely admit that timing is everything. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked Banker Husband to rate me while he was playing Modern Warfare. Between shootings, he asked my why on earth I would want him to do that. “That would just potentially cause hurt feelings,” he added. I then asked him why I would have hurt feelings because I was sure to get a good rating. Or (horrors!), were my feelings going to get hurt because I am not making the grade? Either way, this wasn’t going the way I expected.
In the end, I got an “8”. Just because no one is perfect. Except for my mother-in-law (who, by the by, I dearly love, but don’t want to be compared to).
You can imagine where this is going. Being relentlessly persistent (okay, another point off), I asked for specific examples, of which I received zero. Not even a “your chicken pot pies suck”. So now I’m an “8” without a cause. I told him that I was soooooo blogging about him and left the room.
I reckon that an “8” is a “B”, in grade terms. It’s above average but not quite “A” material. Therefore, I am going to be the “8” that I am. I may plan dinner and it will be better than an average wife would make, but not gourmet. I may raise our children better than most women do, but I don’t need to be mother of the year. Those five pounds I’d like to shed? Well, that’s for a “9” or “10” wife, but I don’t need to worry about it any longer.
Stay tuned. This is most definitely not over.