Interrupt-a-cow

Even though husband-dear is probably the only human in the world who could put up with me and love almost every minute of it, there are, naturellement, certain points of contention between us. There's husband-dear's tendency to hang his used towel on quilt racks, bathroom, closet, and bedroom doors (and really anything but the towel rack), my desire to put everything away if it has gone untouched for more than five seconds, and the seemingly never-ending "you interrupted me again" versus "well, you talk way too slow!" debate. Because there's possibly nothing more entertaining than reading about other people's issues, let's talk about that debate, shall we?

Before I go into more detail, I should probably explain that, in case you do not have the happy fortune of living south of the Mason-Dixon line, southern speech does not just use interesting words and funky grammar, it's also known for a propensity towards.....oh, who am I kidding, southerners talk slow. Some of them really slow. So slow, in fact, that I've been able to update my Facebook page in a pause between words. I've completed grocery lists in the time it takes some to finish a sentence, and have perfected my ability to read a book while keeping my ears tuned for the "uhm" that indicates the end of a long drawn-out syllable, and the beginning of a new thought. I've actually had a few occasions where I've had to tell colleagues/students that they'll have to hold their (seemingly endless, lengthy) thoughts for one second as the inkling from five minutes ago that I might, in the near future or so need to use the bathroom, had turned into a very immediate urge. And although I'll gladly admit that the speed of my speech can sometimes be best compared to a New Yorker on crack, waiting for some southerners to finish talking can feel a lot like pulling taffy.

Anyway, husband-dear, although he has some awesome Yankee characteristics (he actually uses his blinker, and I've never heard him use the word "doohickey", ever), is partly southern, You see, he
spent the first half of his childhood in the north, and the second half on the Gulf Coast in Florida. Subsequently, he has some northern, as well as some southern traits; he always drives like his behind is on fire, and he can't stand people who take their time doing anything, but at the same time he loves his fried chicken, collared greens, and black-eyed peas. And he takes his time saying things. When we first met, I thought he was so thoughtful. And he is. But he also just takes forever to say the most basic things. Seriously.

So when husband-dear and I are talking, a lot of our conversations contain an exchange that goes something like this:
Husband-dear, So that's what I said....(silence)...and...(silence)...yeah...
Me: Well, OK, have you considered....
Husband-dear: Why do you always interrupt me?
Me: Well, I thought you were done talking!
Husband-dear: I was thinking!
Me: Well, then you take a break talking!
Husband-dear: No you don't!

Or like this:
Husband-dear, So then I told him that was OK...(silence)...yeah...(silence)
Me: ...(silence)...
Husband-dear: Why aren't you saying anything?
Me: Oh, well, I didn't think you were done talking, you know, as you like to take a looooong tiiiiiiiiime saying things.
Husband-dear: You're such a turd.

I would love to be able to tell you that all of these interactions are the result of husband-dear just talking far too slow, but I should probably tell you that my inner New Yorker also assumes that everyone who doesn't talk as fast as I do probably doesn't care if they are interrupted, because, well, isn't that obvious? If you got something to say, you spit it out or keep it to yourself. 

Anyway, I have been trying to work on this, and make sure husband-dear (and all other southerners with him) are done before I open my mouth. It means lots of tongue-biting and deep breaths, but you know, love and all that good stuff. I have also noticed that husband-dear has tried to leave fewer loooong pauses in his speech, so I'd like to think we're making good progress. Or perhaps good....ehhm...progress. But sometimes we butt heads anyway, and last night was a great example of that as well as why we go so well together.

We were lying in bed, and husband-dear was telling me something, I assumed he was done, and started talking. Well, of course he had not yet finished what he wanted to say (we were talking about why men don't shave their armpits, and I can't tell you how much I regret that I will now never find out what he thinks about that...really..). So, husband-dear did the usual, slightly pouting, "You interrupted me" (to which I might have sighed something about how we were talking about armpit hair, O-M-G), and then he asked, "Do you know the interrupting cow?"
"The what?"
"The interrupting cow joke."
"No."
"Oh, cool. Knock-knock"
"Who's there?"
"Interrupting cow"
"Interruptingco.."
"MOOOOO!!!!"

Seriously people, I thought I was going to die. Or pee myself. Or possibly both. I laughed so hard I think I might have hurt myself. I laughed so loud, the dogs came looking to see what was wrong with me (when I laugh, really laugh, I sound like a fire truck, volume and pitch, blaring down your street).

And then, like a five-year old, I wanted to do the joke again. To which husband-dear said "sure", and for some reason I thought he added on, "knock, knock". So, still laughing (the fire truck was five miles from your house), I wanted to say, "Who's there", but instead my voice shot out of control, and I boomed so loud the blinds shook, "WHO'S THERE?",
Startled, husband-dear replied, "What the heck...? Wait, wait, I haven't even said 'knock knock' yet. What is this, some kind of clairvoyant knock-knock joke"
And the fire truck was back, right in front of our house (in other words, I'm still laughing as I type this).

So does husband-dear annoy the tar out of me sometimes? Yes. Do I love him for it? Of course!

MOOOO!!!