I believe there are people in the world who take a live and let live attitude towards their spouses.
Like, if fruit and vegetables and exercise are incredibly important to one partner, I think there are people out there who don’t make a big effort to foist the food preferences and the cardio on the other person. It’s probably a more harmonious way to live.
I have to imagine.
In other words, I am certain there are easier wives in this world.
Genuinely, Nick works many more hours each day than I do. And my job is more low key. And there's a gym in my building. So I can schedule a convenient mid-day workout and odds are I'll have time and it will not get canceled due to some last-minute crisis.
But on the weekends, our schedules are pretty similar. And on most weekends, we run together both days. For me, it’s in addition to the three or four times I worked out over the week – and my prego workouts remain as frequent, but much less intense.
For Nick, weekends are often the only exercise time he gets.
Saturday we get up, both really wanting to get out for a run, despite the ugly skies.
Sunday morning, we awake to misty grey weather.
I’m going running regardless. I turn to him. “Do you want to run?”
“But would you run with me?”
He says yes, but reluctantly. I can tell he doesn’t want to. And I’m thinking, seriously? If almost five month pregnant woman can run? You, dude, you can run.
So an hour or so later, post coffee and breakfast, as I’m about to put on my running clothes I say, “You know, if you really don’t want to run with me, it’s OK.”
I do not mean this. Not one bit.
And I think: He's not actually not going to run, when he constantly says he loves to exercise but has no time, is he? Is he? I'll be damned if he is.
“Sure. Just stay home and masturbate with Easy Cheese if you’d rather.”
There’s a flicker of delight. I can see on his face that he is weighing his desire to not run right now against how difficult I might make his life if he doesn’t.
“So you wouldn’t be really angry?”
“I wouldn’t be angry, Nick. I’d think less of you, but I wouldn’t be angry.”
And there he is again, wheels turning. I can see them. Angry Lisa = pain in the ass. Disappointed Lisa = probably tolerable.
So I decide to be very clear. “I wouldn’t be angry. But with each step I’d be thinking, ‘That fucker. He sits on his ass at work all day every day, too busy to exercise. And then when he actually has time, he doesn’t want to go with me.’ That’s what I’d be saying to myself.”
“So what’s it going to be, boy? Me or the Easy Cheese?”