Back by popular request after his Part 1 post, here is my husband, that man who once complimented me by saying, “You’re the third funniest woman I’ve ever met.” Enjoy his guest post on what it’s like to be married to a farm girl.
I am the DH. I am the Dear Husband, butt of jokes, proof reader, sounding board, cheerleader. I am the DH, silent partner, lurking presence, yang to the yin of Ironic Mom, base camp so she can summit three times a week, if you know what I mean.
I have been married to Leanne Shirtliffe for over 11 years. I met the proto-Ironic Mom in the Middle East, a world away from the Manitoba farm on which she grew up. When she said yes to my awkward marriage proposal, part of me looked forward to the stereotypical idea of having a farm-reared wife. I imagined hearty meals made of produce, crisp from our as yet uncultivated backyard garden, lines of freshly canned preserves standing at attention in our pantry, and homemade pies cooling on the window sill of our kitchen.
I got something different.
I got Leanne the Farm Girl/Cartographer. Everything has a compass direction. She will blurt out “I think we should move that picture to the east wall in our bedroom,” or “just turn north after the wine store.” I am a city boy. Give it to me in lefts and rights, Marco Polo.
I got Leanne the Farm Girl/Motorist. Every mild to severe disagreement we have in traffic is settled by her bottom line: “Hey, look, I’ve been driving since I was 10.” My stories of passing my driver’s test on the mean streets of Edmonton do not compete with the mental image of an 10-year-old in a ball cap behind the wheel of a grain truck. How can they?
I got Leanne the Farm Girl/Foghorn Leghorn. When she really gets going, Leanne stops sounding like an educated, rational woman and goes right into the cartoon rooster mode. Disputes are settled with “You can’t tell ME what to do. I’m a gonna DO what I wants to DO.” Thankfully she rarely adds: “You’ve GOT to keep your EYE on the BALL… EYEBALL, that’s a JOKE, son.”
I married Leanne expecting fresh pies. I got a wife full of independence, attitude, a touch of stroppiness, and irony.
Neither my DH nor I could come up with an interesting question that was relevant to this post, so it’s your turn. Feel free to ask a question. Heck, you can even answer it. If you don’t, I’ll either tell the truth or make something up. Scout’s honour.