Lost in Translation: The Sequel
Wrap your mind around this: It’s a lazy Saturday morning, and a loving husband is in bed, resting from a busy week. His loving wife awakens him with a fancy dinner plate. Two pieces of wheat toast, slightly buttered, one with strawberry jam are looking back at him. The aroma of maple cured bacon and scrambled eggs with melted colby jack cheese dances across his nose. Ad a little smile of piping hot grits, a glass of water and a glass of orange juice, and this loving husband has a breakfast of champions before him. What a wonderful awakening, right? WRONG! It was instead the source of an argument.
How could that be? I’m glad you asked!
Rewind three weeks. Some people thought I was socially weird and cut off their relationship with me.
From there, fast forward a week. Those same people are in the midst of a spiritual quandary, and they contact me to answer some questions I never would have been able to had I not been “socially weird.”
Enter loving husband stage right, asking why I’m in contact with these people. I told him that just because they mistreated and rejected me before doesn’t mean I return the same behavior. If that was my M.O. I would have cut said loving husband off years ago when he still hadn’t ingested all those gallons of “Act Right.”
Loving husband’s rebuttal puts me on pause. He patiently states his case that as my loving husband, he is entitled to greater privileges than other people. The only person who should have equal or greater privileges than loving husband is Jesus. This makes total sense to me, and I catalog his assertion in my mind to apply the next time I get a chance.
Fast forward one week, and I’m in the kitchen before work fixing three bacon, egg and cheese breakfast sandwiches; one for me, one for the person picking me up, and one for the guy who works across the street from me who dropped me off at home the evening before. They rant and rave about how delicious the sandwiches are. I shrug and tell them it’s the least I could do for them chauffeuring me around.
Now fast forward to said lazy Saturday. Sleepy loving husband is arising from the cobwebs of a restful slumber as I ask him if he would like a breakfast sandwich. He says yes, and dozes back off. The loving wife I am, I get in the kitchen and start the process of fixing offered sandwich, when I remember the wise rebuttal of my loving husband from two weeks ago. I think to myself, “I cannot fix my loving husband a sandwich like the ones I fix for my friends. I have to go the extra mile!”
So I go through the process of fixing all that was described above. I bring it to him with a big smile on my face, and he says, “HEY! Where’s my sandwich? What is this?” and pushes the plate away.
Enter World War III stage right.
I thought I was giving him extra food and showing him that that his privileges are greater than those of my friends on any given day. Loving husband, on the other hand, saw the two pieces of bread, the eggs, the bacon, the grits all separated on the plate, and because he was expecting a sandwich, he thought I was bringing the pieces to him so he could put them together himself. In his mind, he thought, “Dang…she fixes the sandwich up for her friends, but I gotta put all this stuff together myself. That’s pretty messed up!”
All is resolved, and all is at rest in our household. But we couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that we were–once again–LOST IN TRANSLATION.
God bless!
~ Harriet
Harriet Hairston, a freelance writer, human resources administrator at an HBCU and creator of the motivational blog, “Can She SAY That?!?” has a unique style that brings readers into her life through her transparent demeanor. She lives in Louisiana with her husband and two sons. You can reach her at harriet_hairston@yahoo.com.
Add a comment
Comments (7)