Dichotomy. Today's word. A dichotomy is something with seemingly contradictory qualities. I was discussing an incident with my sister today and that was the word that landed in my mind. So I'll tell you the story I was relating.
Years ago I was in the shower one night after Steve went to bed. I think the kids were grown and gone. I turned around quickly and while I was turned toward the
back wall of the shower I lost my balance and fell out of the shower and into the bathroom floor. Not a graceful fall either. I screamed like a banshee and as I fell backward (and my whole life flashed in front of my eyes) I grabbed the shower curtain on both sides of me and as I fell back, I took the shower curtain out with me. I ended up laying like a beached whale on my back, on a wet, slick shower curtain, with my head shoved up against the sink cabinet on one side and my legs still hanging over into the edge of the shower.
I laid there like a turtle on its back, waiting for Steve to respond to my scream and come flip me over. I realized nothing was broken. The shower curtain was destroyed, but my bones were intact. Then after laying there in gratitude for what felt like an hour, I realized no one was coming to rescue me. And I was wet, cold and stuffed in that small space so tightly I could barely move. I tried to roll over. I kept sliding on the plastic and ending up back on my back. I finally flipped my legs out of the tub and at the same time flipped over on my front side, and slithered off of the shower curtain.
I stood up, grabbed a towel and marched to the bedroom. Okay, the bedroom was on the other side of the house, but I screamed pretty loud. I walked in and looked at Steve.
He was out cold. Snoring. It was disgusting.
This was the same man who would wake up hollering "what the *(&% is wrong?" when I tried to surreptitiously pull an extra two inches of blanket to my side of the bed. The same man who could hear the dogs cough inside their dog houses in the middle of the night, causing him to jump up and run from window to window looking for burglars. (Did I mention we live in the country where the burglary rate is probably less than .001%?)
The man's hearing is a dichotomy, seemingly contradicting itself.
Or maybe it is just selective hearing, and the dogs rank higher on his list of things to protect than my wet butt does.
But I'm sticking with dichotomy. It sounds more important than deaf.
Years ago I was in the shower one night after Steve went to bed. I think the kids were grown and gone. I turned around quickly and while I was turned toward the
back wall of the shower I lost my balance and fell out of the shower and into the bathroom floor. Not a graceful fall either. I screamed like a banshee and as I fell backward (and my whole life flashed in front of my eyes) I grabbed the shower curtain on both sides of me and as I fell back, I took the shower curtain out with me. I ended up laying like a beached whale on my back, on a wet, slick shower curtain, with my head shoved up against the sink cabinet on one side and my legs still hanging over into the edge of the shower.I laid there like a turtle on its back, waiting for Steve to respond to my scream and come flip me over. I realized nothing was broken. The shower curtain was destroyed, but my bones were intact. Then after laying there in gratitude for what felt like an hour, I realized no one was coming to rescue me. And I was wet, cold and stuffed in that small space so tightly I could barely move. I tried to roll over. I kept sliding on the plastic and ending up back on my back. I finally flipped my legs out of the tub and at the same time flipped over on my front side, and slithered off of the shower curtain.
I stood up, grabbed a towel and marched to the bedroom. Okay, the bedroom was on the other side of the house, but I screamed pretty loud. I walked in and looked at Steve.
He was out cold. Snoring. It was disgusting.
This was the same man who would wake up hollering "what the *(&% is wrong?" when I tried to surreptitiously pull an extra two inches of blanket to my side of the bed. The same man who could hear the dogs cough inside their dog houses in the middle of the night, causing him to jump up and run from window to window looking for burglars. (Did I mention we live in the country where the burglary rate is probably less than .001%?)
The man's hearing is a dichotomy, seemingly contradicting itself.
Or maybe it is just selective hearing, and the dogs rank higher on his list of things to protect than my wet butt does.
But I'm sticking with dichotomy. It sounds more important than deaf.
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