At least that’s the way it seems to me. They know precisely what they think in any given situation, and it irks them that women often don’t.
The age-old example is: What do you want to do for dinner. If I ask Michael that, BAM! He immediately produces an answer. Statistically speaking, he has a 70% chance of saying “Tacos” or something taco related (Taco Bell, Taco bowls, etc), and 30% of saying “you know what sounds good? A big ol’ cheeseburger”. Word for word.
He isn’t going to be devastated if he doesn’t get that specific thing because he isn’t genuinely suggesting it most of the time. He would be happy if he got it, but he has a resigned knowledge that we are probably going to end up getting what sounds good to me. As the more picky eater with fewer options, it makes sense—Michael can eat just about anything and just about anywhere, so I have to figure out what I want.
This annoys him to no end, but I won’t know what I want until he says something I don’t.
You know how the conversation goes.
Andie: what do you want for dinner?
Michael: know what sounds good? A big ol cheeseburger.
Andie: ehhhhhh, I was thinking more like pasta.
Michael: then why didn’t you SAY THAT?!
I don’t know how I came to be broken this way. If I know what the other player’s lines are, why wouldn’t I just play the conversation out in my head, figure out what appeals to me, and then lead with that? “Michael, I was thinking pasta for dinner.” Cool.
I can’t explain it, but I just don’t work that way. I have to hear the conversation play out because even I don’t know where it will end.
This surety is not limited to meal times though. My brother Jarrod would state things so matter-of-factly when we were growing up that it compelled you to believe him whether he was right or just inventing an answer on the spot. Rhonda says Michael was the same way when he was a kid. They are so confident that you instinctively believe that they somehow just know.
It was like that when I asked Michael what we should name the babies, too. Like divine inspiration, an angel had told him “and you shall name him after the Scarlet Spider, and it wilt be righteous.”
I’m not saying they are always right. Jarrod was incorrect when we were kids—Mom had not lost her job, and we would not have to start eating dog food. Many other names could have suited Benjamin just as well (though I’m glad he is our little Ben). Maybe they feel pressure to always have the right answers that they couldn’t accept saying “honestly, I don’t know.” Or maybe they really do feel that amount of certainty about every declaration. I don’t know. Either way, it seems like they always know exactly what they mean to say.
That is how confident Michael was about me.
The first night in that coffee shop, he knew. Or at least he claimed he did. He saw in me a future, a connection, commitment, love. With me, he could picture forever.
We saw different things.
I saw a very cute guy, somebody I could see having fun with, going on some dates, maybe doing some smooching. Growing old together would have not even remotely have crossed my mind—it was about here and now, living the life that I had planned for myself.
It’s so interesting to me how complimentary our brains work together, and how they adapt overtime to keep in sync. When Michael is living moment-to-moment, I help him think ahead and spur him into action so we are moving toward that. When I am too impulsive, Michael helps ground me, redraw the parameters to make room for possibility. It is a ongoing push-and-pull so that we never stop moving forward. Someone is perpetually causing progress.
It is curious to me how our lives would look different if we did not have the foil we have provided one another.
When we were dating, Michael lived in apartment with his buddy AJ. They had an espresso machine and a milkshake machine, and it seemed like they were constantly running one or the other; that and triple cheeseburgers from Wendy’s were pretty much all he existed on. It’s a wonder he didn’t buzz into an alternate dimension from all the caffeine and sugar he consumed.
He also accepted that people just got sick after eating shrimp or eating dairy. To him, that was just how things went; he never questioned that maybe, perhaps, he was allergic and should perhaps avoid these foods. It was just the toll you paid.
Without me, I imagine Michael would be a lot more unhealthy as clean eating is not a high priority to him. He would almost certainly still be in Lubbock—he doesn’t relocate unless given little alternative. Overall I think he’d be alright. I’d like to imagine he’d be a little lonelier, but he wouldn’t have had trouble finding a nice girl and settling down. He’s undeniably a catch.
It’s harder to turn that critical eye to myself. If there was no Michael, what would my life be like?
I probably would have starved to death alone in my apartment, trying to decide what to have for dinner.
—Andie
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