Whispering sweet nothings

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 09/01/2019 (2754 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

What with being a crusading newspaper columnist with naturally curly hair and steely blue eyes, I am extremely aware of the importance of communicating in a clear and professional manner.

What’s more, as a sensitive modern husband, I know full well that communicating is the secret to a long and happy marriage.

My marriage would be the perfect example. My wife — She Who Must Not Be Named — and I do a great deal of communicating, which explains why we have been happily married for… hold on while I ask my wife… OK, apparently we have been married for 36 years, which is the kind of thing you learn when you remember to keep the lines of communication open.

While my wife is not a professional communicator like myself, she is deeply committed to sharing her innermost feelings with me, such as when I am relaxing on the couch in our den and she shares with me her feeling that our driveway is covered in a lot of snow and, if I am as committed to our relationship as she is, I will probably get off the couch and go and shovel it.

Which is when I will attempt to communicate the fact that I am watching an informative PBS documentary about the wool industry in Norway and, if she was as committed to world peace as I am, then she would probably forget about the driveway and sit down with me and try to count all the Norwegian sheep on our big-screen TV, which is a pretty calming thing for a couple to do together.

Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that, as a longtime married couple, our ability to communicate openly is being challenged at the moment because my wife is suffering from what can only be described as the killer cold from hell.

Normally, my wife does not succumb to colds, whereas I am frequently waylaid by viruses that sap my manly energy to the point — brace yourselves for a medical shock — where I can only operate the TV remote-control device by relying on my Jedi mind-control powers.

The bad news is, my wife’s cold has caused the vocal cords in her larynx to become swollen, the result being she has lost her voice, which can make communicating more difficult, despite the fact that, according to my spouse, it is almost impossible to communicate with a man via his ears.

What I’m trying to say is that for the past few days, whenever my wife attempts to say something to me, all I can hear is a teeny-tiny whisper or something akin to the gentle croaking noise that baby frogs make when they get together in froggy kindergarten.

You would think having laryngitis would make it impossible for my wife and I to communicate, but you would be wrong.

In many ways, we are communicating better than ever.

For instance, the other night we were in the den watching the Golden Globes, which is an event wherein celebrities get together to wear ridiculous outfits and give extremely long and boring speeches about how their movies and/or TV shows are helping save our democratic way of life.

“Honey,” I said to my wife, “this is incredibly boring. Do you want to keep watching this or catch the end of the football game on The Sports Network?”

My wife rolled her eyes and croaked something along the lines of: “Whisper, squeak, cough.”

While it was impossible to make out what she was saying, I felt that, after 36 years of marriage, I knew exactly what she was trying to tell me.

“OK, sweetheart, football it is,” I chirped, switching the channel over as my wife made a simple hand gesture that I believe was meant to convey the notion that, in her eyes, I am No. 1.

Later, my wife brought out some tea and a plate of cookies, which I ate simply because I wanted to impress my wife with how polite I am.

Eventually, I noticed there was only one cookie left, so, minding my manners, I asked my wife whether she wanted it.

“Whisper, squeak, cough,” she croaked in reply.

“Thank you, honey,” I grunted, stuffing the last cookie into my mouth, “these are really quite delicious.”

It’s amazing how my wife has been able to make her wishes known, which is good, because she probably won’t get her voice back for a week or two.

Before we went to bed the other night, I stumbled on my wife staring at a pile of socks and underwear on the floor beside the dirty-clothes hamper.

“Squeak, whisper, cough!!!” she sighed in her teeny-tiny, gravelly voice.

As a deeply concerned husband, I sensed this was a significant moment.

Hopping into bed, I assured my wife there was nothing to worry about. “I’m leaving that stuff on the floor for the sock fairy,” I explained.

“That’s the same fairy that changes the toilet-paper roll in the bathroom when it runs out.”

I cannot tell you how happy this made my wife, largely because I couldn’t understand a thing she tried to whisper in reply.

“You really need to stop whispering so much or your voice will never get better,” I wisely warned as she stomped to the other side of the bed.

So, yes, the lines of communication are working perfectly in our house at the moment. Fortunately, even in the happiest marriages, a lot of the important stuff goes without saying.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca