Tuesday, October 23, 2012

The Gift that keeps on Giving

My Gift is the written word.  Specifically the kind that comes back to bite me in the behind.  I'm not talking about swearing or gossip or even an unkind opinion I wished I had not expressed.  For me, it's just one word.  One little word that has bit me in the butt.

Let me explain.

Back when I was young and dumb... Okay, just slightly less aged and stupider than I currently already am, I was having a bad day.  Make that a bad week.  I had been married all of three months.  Four tops. And I had taken all my frustration and PMS out on my new hubby.  Everyone has marital spats, but this was not that moment.  This was a moment of guilt when I took a long hard look in the mirror and realized I was not being a very nice wife.  There was a lot of crying and blubbering and fluids running out every opening on my face.  However, in essence, this was how one infamous exchange has irrevocably changed my existence.  This is how it went down:

ME: Oh my gosh...*sniff snort hiccup (and/or other tear making noises)* I am so sorry I have been so horrible.  I feel like  big wench.  (Overlook my verbiage.  At this point in my youth, I was still too naive and innocent for stronger language)

HUBBY:  Hey, don't worry about it.  You had a tough week.

ME:  No, I didn't.  I was just plain mean and I feel horrible.  I was a big fat wench.  A wench spelled with a B.

(Please re-read that in case you missed it)

HUBBY:  (snorts indelicately, despite my wracking sobs and broken heart)  So... you were being a BENCH?

Bench.  In my distraught mind I was going for bitch, but... yeah.  Didn't happen that way.  Do you know that was twelve years ago?  TWELVE!!!   Every single stinking time I feel guilty for being a little too sharp or unkind, the man of the hour brings out the BENCH.  I cannot live it down.  Why?  Because he thinks it is HILARIOUS.

In fact, his memory is so sharp about that single word that I can see my funeral eulogy going down something like this...

Alyson Peterson was a kind woman the majority of the time.  She loved her husband very much, but on occasion she could be a real bench.

Oh yeah.  Bench.  It's the gift word that keeps on giving and I'd bet my left butt cheek that when Mr. Smarty Pants Hubby is in his 90's and has full blown dementia, he'll be known to blubber "...bench, *snicker*  She was Benchy.  Hehehe..." at his applesauce and dentures.

I need a word redo.


  1. I love this. But I can't ever imagine you being a "bench."

  2. I like this story. I like all of your stories Alyson.