Couples who poke fun together, stay together.
In other words, married people who can dish out and take good-natured teasing have the best chances of staying together. I heard this on one of my podcasts a while back and it stuck with me, maybe because it explains how my husband and I have managed to make it for over thirty years. We don’t really have a lot of interests in common, but we DO like the teasing.
Take for example these two recent phone conversations. Before reading them, there are a few things you should know: 1) my husband and I never use affectionate, diminutive nicknames, and 2) my husband likes to pee outdoors.
(my cell phone rings)
Him: Good Morning, Schatzi!
Me: Who is this?
(I see that my husband tried to call me. I call him back. He picks up, but doesn’t speak.)
Him: Wait . . . I’ve got my bimple out . . .
Me: Is that what you wanted to tell me?
I blogged a while back about how we sent our DNA in for testing, and that has turned out to be an excellent source of jokes. First off, after reading that post, my mom sent me the results of her brother’s test – which I assume would be the same as hers and half of mine. It confirmed what I had basically expected. Mom’s theory was debunked – no Roman blood anywhere. The German, English, Norwegian, Scottish and Irish parts were all confirmed, but – to my delight – the test also showed Swedish and Welsh ancestry. I walked around for a few days feeling very Scandinavian and relishing in my genetic upgrade. When the subject of my husband’s summer fishing trip came up, I exclaimed “Why do you have to go all the way to Sweden when you’ve got a Swedish chick right here at home?”
But then the (dubious) results of my test arrived.
Me: According to this, I am 0% German!
Him: Maybe it’s time for a talk with your mom.
I stared at the ridiculous results for a long time, trying to make any sense of them. The English and Scandinavian parts were in there, but no Irish or Scottish. That was bad enough, but then . . . no German!?!? There was also a whole lot of new stuff too: Finnish, Latvian, Estonian . . . and the coup de grace: Apparently I am 15% Greek with a smattering of Italian (That Roman guy is back!!)
How can I be Greek? I spent my childhood eating Grandma’s German cooking and playing Sheepshead. I internalized Grandpa’s Germanic “Work hard and play hard” ethic. I raked leaves and babysat and waited tables and got good grades and studied . . . To think, all that time, I should have been taking 3 hour lunch breaks and going into debt and dreaming about my future big fat wedding . . .
Of course my husband started crooning about his Greek wife and doing Zorba dances. But then his test results arrived . . .
I can’t believe I married a Yugoslavian.
ANYWAY . . . I am currently working on the wording of my indignant email to the customer support people of this DNA testing company.
And before I forget –
Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!!
We can talk about the Roman guy and this Greek stuff when I come in summer.