Exactly What's He Thinking When
During 7 Pivotal Moments of Your
Relationship
Being able to read your man's mind might prove
boring — or gross. But at certain key moments
, you oughta know what's happening in there. 7
of our fave guy bloggers spill it
...you drive. In the passenger seat beside you,
I'm stressed.
You're actually a good driver, but your strong
sense of right and wrong makes for agitating
car talk. You ask, "Can I give him the
finger?" I say, "No! Just move to the next
lane! You're driving so close they're going to
stop short and then you'll hit them, and NO!
It's not worth it!" When we finally arrive at
our destination, I'm exhausted. There is only
one solution to this problem: I drive home.
— OREN MILLER
...he knows he wants to marry you.
"Shawn, I can see you marrying this girl." My
friend Piers shakes his head wryly as I tell
him the California girl I met online is coming
to visit me. "If I do, you'll be my best man,"
I reply. Ha ha, we're thinking. When you're
18, weddings happen to other people.
Days later, I'm waiting for you to walk through
the arrivals door at the Toronto airport,
anxiously trying to reconstruct what you look
like based on the photos you've sent. I'm
doubtful and nervous until you appear. I see
your eyes, and you see my eyes. I see your
smile, and you see mine. There you are, I
think to myself. I would recognize you
anywhere. We kiss in Terminal 1 for the first
time, barely more than strangers, and I know:
This is perfect.... Piers needs a tux.
— SHAWN BURNS,
...you're on the delivery table.
I'm no lightweight. I watched four seasons of
ER. But when I see our son Boone escape your
body accompanied by a flood of unknown fluids,
my brain unleashes a string of exclamations
from sources as diverse as Scarface and Scooby-
Doo. (Yes, I start with the F-bomb and end with
"Zoinks!") By the time his twin, Wyatt,
emerges, my mind is filled with white noise. I
blindly take photos as the doctor juggles
their strangely dripping forms.
While I've gained two wonderful sons, I've lost
some things too — specifically, my appetite.
I'll never be able to look at veal the same
way. I wouldn't have been anywhere but at your
side as you performed that miraculous act, but
I'm finally done with hospital dramas.
— DAVID VIENNA
...your parents visit for the weekend.
"Hi, Mom and Dad," I smile through clenched
teeth as the in-laws drag their bags to the
door. They've just arrived for their biannual
inspection, er, visit. Standing in the doorway
of my own house, I'm on my best behavior. Then
the compliments start. "Oh, look at you! Have
you lost weight? You look so much better!" says
Mom.
"And how is that job of yours? It's a shame you
still haven't been promoted," Dad chimes in.
I know I can't hide, but I seek solace in the
garage, where there's plenty to keep me busy
until... would I like help cleaning my garage?
Well, sure, Dad. Kind of you to offer.
I can tell you also feel the stress. The moment
morph from the calm, caring, and intelligent
woman I married into a living caricature of
that black-and-white theater mask representing
comedy and tragedy. Every interaction
alternates between you smiling sweetly at them
and you turning to shoot me your time-
perfected stink eye, as if it's my fault
they're in our house.
When the visit finally draws to a close and
their car backs down the driveway, your father
stops and rolls down his window. He reaches
out his hand and pulls me in close. With a
glint in his eye that telegraphs Yeah, I've
got in-laws too, he mutters, "Hang in there,
sport. We'll be back in six months." Oh, I
can't wait. — TROY PATTEE
...you turn him down for sex.
It's because I smell, isn't it? I believe you
were the one who suggested vegetarian taco
night! Anyway, I wish you would just be honest
and say that instead of talking about how tired
you are. I know, I should have hinted to you
earlier that I really want to have sex
tonight, but somehow I felt like bringing it
up in front of the kids during dinner would be
in poor taste. After they went to sleep, you
wanted to stream an episode of Family Ties on
Netflix, and I figured that since you complain
about me being all over you and never giving
you a moment to rest, I'd let you enjoy the
Keaton family in peace. But now that the
episode is over, you're ready to sleep. I'm
tired too. Oh hey! You know what would be a
great way to ensure a good night's rest? Having
sex before we go to bed! Seriously, all that's
going to happen if we don't is that I'll toss
and turn for the next three hours, which will
keep you up, and then once I finally drift
off, I'll sleep-grope you. Then you'll get
grumpy and wake me up, so we'll both be awake
half the night and get up tomorrow in rotten
moods and we'll repeat this exact scenario
another day. You know I'm right. And only you
can break the cycle. — AARON TRAISTER
...you leave him alone with the kid for the
weekend.
Do you remember the movie Home Alone? When you
tell me I'm solo parenting for the weekend,
I'm Kevin McCallister: both hands on my
cheeks, mouth open in a silent scream. But once
that passes, I know we'll be fine. The little
one and I might drink milk out of the carton
and lip-synch Bob Seger songs while sliding
across the dining room floor in our socks and
button-downs, but it's nothing you haven't
seen before. We'll be fine.
Fast-forward to hour 47 of this 48-hour gig.
The house is a disaster. FEMA is responding,
celebrities are setting up telethons. Clothes
litter the floor. Dishes fill the sink. A
fine, semi-permanent layer of snot encrusts the
upper lip of our child. It's a mess like you've
never seen, and you will never see it, because
when you call from the car after your flight
has landed, Mr. Mom becomes Mr. Clean.
Propelled by the shame of letting you down and
battling mild indigestion from literal pangs of
guilt, I vacuum with one hand, dust with
another, and entertain our toddler with my
foot. I shoo the goats and chickens out back
and throw junk into the basement. The door
opens and you see your loving husband and
angelic daughter waiting with open arms. It
looks like the cover of a Hallmark card
celebrating exhaustion.
"Wow," you say. "I thought it would be
messier." Well, you thought wrong. — IAN
...when he sees you're Facebook friends with
your college ex
I don't pay much attention to your Facebook
profile, because I'm confident that your
digital friends will have no impact on the life
we've built together. After all we've been
through — the house we constructed with our
blood, sweat, and rapidly diminishing equity;
our miscarriage; and then the two beautiful
children who have given us a new definition of
being in love — I know this Facebook
friendship isn't a threat to us.
Admittedly, this might be a little naive. The
social web has allowed us to reconnect with
people who could rekindle dormant feelings.
Still, I'm not jealous that you're friends
with your ex. There's a reason your
relationship didn't work, and from what you've
told me about him, he probably still lives with
his parents.
That said, if he "pokes" you, it's on.
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