A View from Within
Sometimes, I embarrass my husband.
I like getting my discounts and am shameless asking for it, while I see him at the corner of my eye, squirming in his seat, wanting to disappear.
Like the time our engine light came on during our trip to Tagaytay and luscious Canyon Woods (while we were singing – shouting – Don’t Stop Belieeeevinnn!!!). Long story short, we had the car checked, had the car checked-in for almost a week (uh, sorry, we have to take a closer look at it, might be serious), and were charged an arm and a leg just so they can clean the computer box.
The computer box, dirty, causing so much sorrow! (if I can be melodramatic about it)
Who will not complain, or ask for a humongous discount?
Well, not me. (or not not me?) I rolled my eyes and simmered in my seat while I let the man explain what was not wrong with my car. Hubby, as far as possible, pretended to read a magazine, looking oblivious to the world.
When I realized I was not going anywhere with the complaining, I shifted gears and tried to use the sweetest voice I can so I can get a discount. Beads of sweat and unease settled on the face of my boy-with-the-magazine. It was palpable, his discomfort at my gall (Is she asking for a discount? Why is she asking for a discount? We can afford it. Can’t we afford it?). If he could have bolted out of the door at that time, he would have.
Long story short, I got my discount. It was not as substantial as I wanted, but I got it, while a heave of relief poured forth from the embarrassed-eavesdropping man in the distance.
When we got in the newly unrepaired car, he could not let it go – why did I not stop until I got what I wanted? The poor mechanic. It is as if I solely got the benefit of the discount. It is as if I injured his pride.
We then laughed a good laugh. It is a song and dance with us, these silly arguments. But the outcome is the same – he will not dance my dance because it is beneath him to ask (for a discount, for directions, for anything short of admitting he needs something – oh, the horror!).
The story of our lives. But then, maybe, it is why we have each other.
Article and Photo by Issa. Copyright 2009-2011.
Website: www.YouWantToBeRich.com
Email: issa@youwanttoberich.com
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