I am definitely a female of the species. I have married a male of the species.
In proof: we have reproduced the species.
This is where the similarities end. Except we both like rock climbing. That, too.
When I think about things, I think in circles and occasional waves.
When I open my mouth and let them out, I hear lovely word pictures.
“Darling, would you please put your dirty glass in the dishwasher?”
When Hubby thinks about things, he thinks in straight lines with lots of little star-shaped clusters along the path.
When he opens his mouth and lets them out, he hears lovely word pictures.
“Are you saying I don’t do my share around here? Because I do, and dishes in the sink are not a problem.”
He has no concept of circles and waves. He thinks I think in straight lines covered in stars and therefore, I am speaking in tongues again.
I will say “molehill” and he will hear “mountain”.
I will say “problem” and he will think “not”.
It is actually easier for us to speak in body language with occasional signing.
“Darling?” I say, and when he glances my way, I lift the glass from the sink, calmly place it into the dishwasher, shut the door, and look at him and smile.
He replies by raising an eyebrow inquisitively and going about his business.
What is there to say, really?
On the other hand, I do occasionally have a triangular thought.
I ponder something that has three sides and appears a little alien at first, and I stare at it and turn it around and try different views and throw a few preconceived ideas at it until it starts to form a shape that I recognize.
I really feel the need to share this concept with my Hubbs.
I face Hubby, open my mouth, and attempt to say the thing: “Triangle.”
Blank stare.
I try again: “I think it might be a triangle.”
“What you’re talking about sounds more serpentine. Possibly it’s an irregular quadrilateral.”
He’s really attempting to understand.
I go on, “I’m not sure if it’s actually pink with purple spots, but basically, we’re talking about a triangle here. Maybe scalene.”
“No,” says Hubby after some consideration, “this sounds much more complicated. I’m not even convinced that triangles exist. Not in the way you think they do. What you’re talking about is an icosahedron.”
“But,” I falter, “I told you it only has three sides. And they connect into a single shape. Forming three angles inside of it. It’s pretty much a classic definition…”
Hubby frowns. “Are you telling me I don’t know what I’m talking about? Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s shapes.”
Later that night, I call a girlfriend. I’m almost in tears.
“Honey, calm down,” she says, “Tell me exactly what you said. This is a safe place. I’m listening.”
“Um, triangle?”
“Oh!” she says, “Triangle. Of course. Sometimes it’s pinkish, like, with tiny purple dots on it.”
I’m speechless.
“Are you there? Kid, I know triangle and you know triangle. It’s okay if he doesn’t know triangle. I think his mind is just wired for octagons. Perfectly normal.”
I take a few comforted breaths and she continues.
“Actually, my Hubby is all about colors. Have you ever tried to explain what the number nine smells like to a guy who can’t even begin to understand what you’re talking about, unless you can say what color it is first?”
*sigh*
