Musings of a Chicago-Born New Yorker

Starting A Spousal Support Group

The husband and I had another double date with the couple whose wedding we met at. This time, we headed to their apartment to hang out. We brought board games, movies, and pizza. We were happy to prove to ourselves we could hang out on a small budget and still have a good time.

We decided to watch The Campaign with Will Ferrel and Zach Galifianakis. We were watching, and watching, and no one was really laughing. I think we got about a half hour in (though it felt like 4 hours has passed, so I’m not sure) before we agreed we had to stop watching it.

The husband went to get me a sandwich from Potbelly’s because I wasn’t feeling the pizza. While he was gone, the three of us still there setup the board game Loaded Questions. It’s setup for people to play individually. You take turns answering these random ass questions while one person out of the group guesses which answer belongs to whom. The better you do on figuring out the answers each person picked, the closer you get to the winners circle. You win once you’ve gotten at least 3 answers correct on your turn.

The game sounds simple enough, but they are not kidding when they say the questions come loaded. There was so much yelling and laughing and name calling going on. If I had recorded in and played it back, one wouldn’t think it was two married couples playing.

Ultimately, it panned out that the two couples had something in common. In order for me to explain, I’m going to have to give this couple a name. Let’s call them Mr. and Mrs. How Much. I chose that name because they often ask how much stuff costs. They are very cost conscious people. And also, I know it will crack the husband up when he reads the name I’ve chosen.

So, Mrs. How Much needs things repeated to her a lot. Mr. How Much said to her at least 38 times during the game, “stop pick the obvious answer.” And then the very next question she’d do it again. It was frustrating him, but amusing the husband and me. At the same time, I was constantly repeating to the husband the rules of the game. He was the only one who’d played before, and yet for some reason, he didn’t remember any of the rules. Not even after we were playing the game for a second time in one night.

Have you ever stood in front of a wall and repeated the same thing multiple times? If you have, you should probably seek psychiatric help. But if you are the crazy person who has done it, or the imaginative person who can guess what that would be like, then you know how Mr. How Much and I felt.

Our spouses let information go in one ear and out the other. It was like dealing with a glitchy computer. Or an alarm clock that has settings that won’t stick. Or something else equally malfunctioning.

That’s when Mr. How Much and I knew we needed a support group. We needed a support group for the Spouses Who Can Remember Things. In Mrs. How Much’s defense, she does remember some things. She takes care of making sure the bills get paid on time, so that’s huge for her. Outside of that, she’s just like the husband. He’s so sweet to me and can remember my Potbelly’s order without asking (mostly because he has it in his phone, but whatever). But when it comes to remembering just about anything else, he gets all glitchy computer on me.

Sometimes, I think he’s just fucking with me. I think he’s secretly chuckling to himself and what outrageous inanimate malfunctioning object I’ll compare him to. Or maybe he’s testing to see just how many things he can forget without making me officially mad. I don’t know what the end goal is, but I guess I just want him to have some logical reason for having the world’s worst memory. Except for Mrs. How Much of course.

I know I’m going over this a lot, but it was both enlightening and disheartening. When I realized Mr. How Much felt my pain, I was like, “Oh! Someone gets it! I’m not alone any more. Let us commence to commiserate.” But then I was like, “oh… he feels my pain. He knows the never-ending-only-mildly-amusing frustration I always feel. Poor guy.”

At one point, I was screaming because the husband thought the point of the game was to throw people far off your scent so they’d guess wrong. He was right, but oh so wrong.

If a question asks for your favorite museum, you pick your third favorite that could also be someone else’s favorite. You do not pick a museum you’ve never been to.

If a question asks for a disgusting beverage, you still have to pick a beverage, you can’t just say urine.

If a question asks for the ugliest dog, don’t pick one that you can’t even picture what it looks like. I was just frustrated that the husband was purposely messing up the rules. It’s not fun when the rule edits aren’t clever, and they are just random and haphazard.

My screaming was only the encore though to Mr. How Much. He felt frustrated because his wife’s answers weren’t thoughtful. A question asked which president in all of American history would we like to hold the office of Vice President to and she said Bill Clinton. Well, actually, she said Al Gore, but that’s because she didn’t hear the question correctly.

The same thing happened when she picked nachos as her favorite movie food. He couldn’t believe she picked that when it’s what we ordered when we went to the movies not even a week prior.

Needless to say, the ridiculous answers and over-reacting responses had all of us falling all over the floor laughing at each other. You simply had to laugh.

I don’t know if I’m a glutton for punishment or not, but I’m really looking forward to the next time we play that game. I wouldn’t suggest playing it with any old couple though. We would have to play with a couple who could withstand the ridicule that inevitably comes from sub-par answers.

If you happen to have a spouse who doesn’t listen, or doesn’t remember, or is awful at board games, hit me up. Mr. How Much and I would love to have some more support in our group.

I’m sure if you’re on the other side, the husband and Mrs. How Much are likely plotting to start their own support group for Spouses of Hyper-Critical Know-It-Alls.

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