I’m Not Your Body

My daughter has adopted a strange behavior from my wife. She sometimes needs me to decipher what she wants to eat. Not in an authoritarian way. She doesn’t want me to decide for her. She wants me to reach inside her head and figure out what she wants. Like some sort of mystic-mind-meld, she expects me to do the work. And if I don’t, oh boy.

The origin of this began almost two decades ago. My wife and I started dating at 15, so even now at middle age, we have a lot of miles on this relationship. We got to know each other's dietary habits quickly. With simple tastes, it was easy to get the basics down. In high school the local sub shop was a fine lunch, Pizza Hut was a great date, and a banana split from Baskin-Robins on the ride home was the finishing touch on a wonderful day.

We slowly started to play a game. Guess what the other person was going to get on the menu at any new eatery. My wife was good at this game, only because I eat the same thing at every place. Boring, but satisfying for me. She enjoyed a little more variety, but didn’t swim too far from shore. Over the years I learned to predict what she would get with a passing grade.

Then it slowly started to happen. She started asking me what she should eat, but she wasn’t ruminating for suggestions. She couldn’t decide. She wanted me to use my intimate knowledge of her, screened by the day's events, and measured by the temperature of her mood to find the perfect meal. This always happened when she was already hangry. No time to waste. I was under the clock as soon as she asked.

One time I tried to push back, and that did not go well. The short of it was that I was being a bum for not helping her. I pretended to be offended, but she was actually kind of right. If I dug into that menu, read every word, and really focused on my wife for a few minutes, I could figure out what she wanted.

I’m not sure why we get in our own way, but it seems to happen a lot. The stumbling block is our own dumb heads. Focused on all the wrong things and put off by the smallest inconveniences, we don’t realize we are teetering on delirium. In those moments when we finally ask for help, we really mean it. And who better than our partner, relative, or old pal to assist. Come on ol’ buddy, help a brother out! That's all my wife is asking for.

The reason I sometimes pretend this is annoying is that it requires energy. I can’t figure out what meal will satisfy you off the top of my head. I need to remove the focus from myself. The spotlight has to shift from me to you. I guess if I’m being really truthful, the reason I often hesitate is only because I’m hangry too.

So when my daughter started this up today, I hit her back with, “I’m not your body, I don’t know what you want.” And just like my wife, she would not have any of it. Didn’t even react. She just waited, knowing I would cave after ten seconds. And I did. These two women can play me like a fiddle. But who cares. It’s cool to be an instrument for their happiness.