My Mr. Bennet

I think I might be the bane of my husband’s existence. He behaves, at times, as if I’m Mrs. Bennet to his Mr. Bennet.

In our nightly pillow ritual, he huffs dramatically when faced with the task of removing all five decorative pillows from our bed. And every night I remind him not to throw them on the floor, at which time, he lets out a heavy sigh reeking of “You can’t be serious!” I’m not sure why we have this same conversation every night, but alas, I do what I can to keep the peace.

He takes great joy in displaying exaggerated exasperation at my little helpful suggestions when he’s making repairs around the house. A simple hint from me sends him into such vexations I think he might become apoplectic. Despite my agreeable temperament, I get the impression he doesn’t appreciate all the supportive ideas I bring to the table as his Assistant, with a capital “A”.

When he’s driving, and it appears he needs my instructions about where to turn next, or what speed might be the most appropriate for our neighborhood, he turns his head slowly to look at me with a stare that’s otherworldly and slighty forbidding (but I take no offense). Instead my response is always a gentle reminder to keep his eyes on the road, and to take the turns a little less fast. “Passenger comfort” is, after all, my mantra.

But I’ve noticed, over many years of friendly banters, he plays a big game when it comes to being irritated with me. He’s all bluster and no bite. All drama and no danger. He huffs and puffs and rolls his eyes, but it’s obvious he takes great pleasure in all my little interruptions, helpful hints and tips, and continual reminders of important things he’s forgotten, as well as the trivial ones he appears to have no interest in. And he especially delights in the moments where I help him find something that’s been right in front of his eyes the whole time. (His delight and gratitude in that moment is…..well…..worth the price of admission to our little family drama.)

I think Jane Austen’s description of Mr. Bennet describes my hubby well - “He left the room, fatigued with the raptures of his wife.”

And so, in honor of my Mr. Bennet, I dedicate this haiku to him:

Dear Mr. Bennet
     Your tone scolds, but your
     eyes twinkle. Your casual,
     calm stance belies your
     vexation with me.
     Your slow grin gives you away.
     You're enchanted with
     me.