No one likes a taste of their own medicine, especially when the medicine is actually pine sap and broken glass. ALL men know that the dreaded “we need to talk” is rarely (if ever) followed by something nice and safe like deciding on a pattern for the living room curtains or some such marshmallow of a topic. I’m sure the suckitude of receiving this is true for women as well, but I’m speaking from a man’s perspective here.
As it turns out, this was one of those rare instances, and it was actually just about coordinating a sleepover. No biggie! Still, my wife got to experience that sweaty, anxious wait; wondering if she’d done something wrong that she had no idea about or if our kid had done something or this or that or AHHHHHHH!
After I was done enjoying her squirm, I reassured her that it was probably nothing. Which as we all know didn’t f*cking help at all, of course. She was a sport and laughed guiltily at having done it so many times herself, but I really do hope that the next time she feels the urge to say or text to me “we need to talk,” she’ll have some empathy and just bring it up with me later, without setting the rapidly ticking timer on an anxiety bomb.