Written In Reverse

Did anyone feel that bump in the road? Oh yeah. Me neither....

So that’s why I don’t recommend letting someone else’s anger make you angry. It’s a waste of your time, and a stupid feather to put in your hat. Plus, there are many exits from the “This sucks we’re in a fight” highway. Especially with your significant other. That’s why next time, I’m gonna take an earlier exit.

Of course I wanted to explain my side and all the reasons I was right and she was wrong. Of course my brain begged me to “go there” and “remember that” and “prove this” and “prove that.” But, the fact of the matter, is that in these sorts of matters, there are rarely facts, and even if there are, they don’t matter.

Marriage isn’t hard or easy. It’s a liminal state you can dissect and analyze, but at your own peril. The best strategy is to live in each moment, not in memories or in the anticipation of what comes next. But, some moments feel like lines in the sand, and they can pressure us, when we’re in the thick of it.

I liken these moments to when a basketball team is down two points with a few seconds left, and they call a time out to make a plan. They have two options: try to tie and go to overtime, or take a three and win it right there. But there’s also a third option: They could forfeit the game and decide to be friends.

Hahahahhahahahahahhahahaha. Ooops. I meant to write, “Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah!”

If only marriage were a do-or-die, winner-take-all, cut throat game where one team is victorious. That would be easy, since we’re socialized to treat most things that way. Nah fam. When you’re wedded—you’re embedded—in a non-sum game where you each take big L’s to alchemize small W’s for the team.

But knowing this doesn’t help you when you’re upset with your spouse and you know they’re upset with you and the fact that they’re upset with you is what is upsetting you. It’s a really weird position. You feel like a boxer who wanted to retire, but your manager is begging you to “Get in the ring one more time!”

Here’s the gist of our fight. Our daughter is approaching three and she’s really into fashion. Now, I don’t know if you’ve seen a picture of me, but fashion is definitely not my thing. For example, I cut my own hair for 20 years straight, a streak that began after my college graduation and ended at my wedding.

My point is that it’s a true strain on my intellect and emotional system to feign interest in my daughter’s obsession with princess dresses, accessories, and most of all shoes. I know, I know, and I get it, I get it. My mom likes shoes, most girls like shoes, I should like that my daughter likes shoes.

But my problem isn’t that my daughter likes shoes. My issue is that my daughter lives in 2024 where of-age women often dress like they want men to stare at their bodies, and that’s fine, but I don’t think pre-pubescent kids should do this, and my daughter wants to look and dress like an adult woman.

Meanwhile, my wife is from Miami, where everyone wears next to nothing in public, so she thinks I’m “overly afraid of pedophiles.” True or false, it doesn’t matter. Either way, it led to us arguing heatedly about “whether or not sickos go after kids who dress like adults more than those who don’t.”

Of course, that’s my version. Hers is different, but I’m not going to verify this with her, because we’ve moved on, and that’s why I wrote this essay in reverse. We’re fine. Which is my way of saying that we fight often enough that I can’t keep count, but rarely enough that I can’t remember the one before this.

Her version is that she ordered a set of high heels for princesses from Amazon and I told her not to because I think that’s sexualizing our daughter, so after I called to explain that, I canceled the order, and then she thought I’d seen her text that said not to cancel it, (I didn’t), so she assumed I was being a total dick (which I am more than capable of doing, but in this instance that was not my intention, at all.)

BREAKING NEWS! BREAKING NEWS! THIS JUST IN! HEAR YE, HEAR YE!

I learned a new word this week: “Vitiate.”

It means, “To spoil or impair the quality or efficiency of.”

Can you see where I’m going and where I went with this?

Facts, fiction, and horseshoes and hand-grenades time:

• My daughter is an innocent child who is learning “how life works” by watching everything as closely as you probably monitor your bottom line, waist line, or property line.

• There are people out there who, for one reason or another, do terrible things to kids that causes what I call “unsolvable issues that will plague them until their death,” and I want to stop this.

• I’m told it’s a good thing by feminists to let girls do whatever they want, but I’m also told by feminists that my only job as a CIS-male dad is to protect my daughter from toxic masculinity.

• We live in an era where “Wet Ass Pussy” was a chart topper, Only Fans is a job to be proud of, and it’s normal for girls of any age to twerk and grind, but I’m supposed to pretend that none of this is actually sexual. It’s only sexual to toxic men, who should be killed, jailed, or exiled for being toxic.

Hot take: I don’t want my daughter to wear bikinis, short skirts, makeup, or heels BECAUSE I learned (in feminist school of all places!) that these were invented by the patriarchy to force women into a life of objectivity that encourages THE MALE GAZE, which leads to rape, violence, and toxic masculinity.

So to recap: I was being told I’m toxic for canceling the order (control), but it’s also toxic to help my daughter become a victim of/get addicted to/seek the male gaze (objectification).

But, whammy of all whammies: I’m also not dumb, which is why this fight sucked. Because my intuition says, “You cannot control anything. You are absolutely NOT in control. Like, zero, zip, nada, nothing. You are an amassed collection of particles and you think you’re “you” and you think “you” have “you-ness” and you think this “you” and it’s “you-ness” is supposed to do “you things” but ACkTUALlY, the only thing to do is hang out and not be a jerk, to anyone, including yourself, so you should let your precious daughter and wonderful wife do what they want. Be nice and see what happens.”

So my wife and I fought. We fought hard, which means we talked on the phone twice, each of us hanging up on the other once (that’s a tie), and then she sent me angry texts that I did not return, but that anger made me soooo sooooo soooo what’s the word? ANGRY. They made me so f***ing angry that I wanted her to feel how angry I was, so I came up with creative ways to do this, all day, while pretending/trying to work, and then I got home and had to see her stupid face (you know, the one I fell in love with, the one I would die for, the one I want to see all day, everyday, the rest of my life) and I got even more mad because she didn’t seem UPSET ENOUGH (anyone else suffer from this? I call it “Indignified Rage” and I just trademarked it, but since you’re a premium sub you can use it for free).

But then, I remembered that word:

Vitiate - to spoil or impair the quality or efficiency of

And it clicked. I went in the backyard, took some deep breaths and meditated, then came inside and said, “I’m calm now,” and we didn’t talk about it again.

And yes, those stupid high heels arrived today, and I said to my angel, “Those look amazing! You’re an amazing, beautiful princess, WOW!” even though I’ve been told by feminists AND normal women that I shouldn’t call my daughter a princess and I should not reward her for looking pretty.

If you got ANYTHING from this essay, I hope it’s that you shouldn’t vitiate the good things in your life. No matter how upset you get, breathe, call a friend, meditate, etc., but don’t make it worse.

THIS IS A TRUE STORY and I want to end it by giving huge praise to my amazing wife Elana, who is a good egg and a great mother, and who has proven to me that marriage is totally, utterly worth it, and that good things do come to those who wait, and that I wasn’t wrong: there really was someone out there, waiting for me, hoping I’d find her, and when I did, she made the wait seem like small potatoes, even if those potatoes sometimes dress in clothes that I find inappropriate because they’re from Miami.

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Coffin Talk, baby! Meet Adam Zuckerman! He is the founder of Buried in Work, a company focused on easing the burden of estate planning, the tasks surrounding end-of-life activities, and estate transition. He’s an amazing man with a big heart. You’ll love this one. Listen HERE (or on any/all apps).