“Say What?!”
My husband and I have decided that we are going to spend the rest of our lives walking around the house saying “What?!” to each other until one of us dies.
We don’t have a big house. But now, since we’re empty-nesters, we are each able to have our own office from which we rule over our little retirement empires. Every now and then, one of us will have a question about the grocery list, what we’re having for dinner or whose turn it is to feed the cat. That’s when one of us will holler from our seat of power, “Did you remember to pick up parmesan cheese at the store?”
The other will invariably answer, “What?!”
Then the question will be repeated. This time in a louder voice, only to be met with, “You’ll need to come into my office and ask me because I can’t understand you! All I hear is ‘mwah-mwah, mwah-mwah-mwah” (Imagine adult voices from the classic Peanuts TV shows).
The other night, our daughter came over for free food with a side of unsolicited advice from her father. After dinner, he was propped in front of the TV watching Jeopardy and I calmly said, “Do you mind turning the volume down a little?”
Our daughter agreed. “Yeah, Dad. Geez.”
“I can’t help it if you both have bat ears,” he replied.
“Do you have your hearing aids in?”
“What?”
“Do you have your hearing aids in?”
“What?”
“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny. I’m so glad we paid for ‘cheering’ aids so they could cheer you on from the top of the bedroom dresser,” I said. And so it goes.
I know studies have been done about how you lose the ability to hear higher frequencies as you age: things like children’s voices, birds chirping, gadgets beeping or….one’s wife. Which means, I suppose, that I should start talking in a lower pitch like Kathleen Turner, Lauren Bacall or Anne Bancroft in order to get my husband’s attention. Maybe wear silk stockings and garters, too.
Studies have also shown that, as we age, the sensory hair cells — stereocilia, I’m told — die or get damaged. I don’t know about that “dying” part; my husband has enough ear hair that he should be able to hear a gnat sneeze at 40 yards.
We’ve started using subtitles when we watch TV together. Mostly because my husband claims he can’t understand what the contestants and hosts are saying on The Great British Baking Show. I ‘ave no bloomin’ idea what the pillock’s talkin’ about, but ‘is royal ‘ighness insists on ‘avin’ the subtitles and there’s no faffin’ about with ‘im when ‘e gets like this.
I guess I’m lucky I get to watch anything with him that isn’t a WWII movie.
But we’re learning to work things out. He promises to put in his hearing aids and all I have to do is put my lips together and blow….
