As a redhead, a Gemini, and someone blessed (or cursed, depending on the day) with bipolar disorder, it’s fair to say I’m a passionate woman. That passion can become a fire very quickly. Fortunately, my dear husband (DH) is milder and more patient. If I am the flame, he is the aqueous film-forming foam that smothers the fire and prevents re-ignition. Meanwhile, he quietly uses his analytical personality to ensure that everything is how it should be regarding the essentials of family life.
During one of our recent visits with our mental health team (yes, this marriage comes with a team), the specialist turned their attention to DH to see how he was handling life with a ‘crazy wife’. After 25 years of marriage, nothing seemed too much for my DH to handle in his mild-tempered manner. I was intrigued when he asked: “What is your strategy for living in such a changeable environment?”
“I use a rating of one to fourteen,” DH answers (can you see the analytical here? Geesh!). “One being a bad mood and fourteen being a manic mood.”
“Why fourteen?” the specialist asked. “Why not ten or twenty?”
“Because that is how many undies I have,” DH answered in dead seriousness.
The specialist and I blinked at him like he’d just confessed to being an alien. Where was this going?
“I have fourteen undies,” DH continued. “If I wake up in the morning and all fourteen undies are folded in my drawer, then I know my wife has been up all night doing things, one of which being the laundry. Therefore, she is manic.”
“If there is only one pair in my drawer, I know she must be pretty low because she is obviously not on top of the laundry as usual.”
Eyebrows raised – the specialist looked like they were double-checking their notes to ensure they hadn’t accidentally diagnosed the wrong person. I was also baffled about where this was going.
“And if there are no undies?” the specialist enquired.
“Commando!” My DH answers with pride.
“Commando?” The specialist probed?
“Yes, partly because I know I am now in a war zone and partly because, well, you know…” DH looked down at his crutch.
I didn’t know how to react.
At that moment, I wasn’t sure whether to throttle him for reducing my mood swings to the state of his underwear drawer all these years instead of listening to me (trust me, I am not shy about voicing my emotions) or to laugh fondly at a man who would perhaps be the only person to admit that he gauges his wive’s moodiness by his clean laundry count. The rest of me itched to write this column.
So, after spending the rest of the session reassuring the specialist that I am not in a domestic slavery situation, my DH does help me around the house and is a great support, we left with a hefty bill and one burning question on my mind.
“So,” I asked casually as we returned to the car. “Where would you place me on your scale today?”
DH gave me a cheeky grin. The kind someone gives when they know they are about to say something you will either love or want to hit them for.
“Commando.”
I never thought my mood would be directly linked to the state of someone’s underwear drawer, so I guess it is true that you learn something new about yourself every day.
We have since named this technique the Jock-o-meter.