Whose Ox is Being Gored?
Yeah, the hubster—you know, the Center of the Universe (CoTU), made an off-color, off-handed, off-planet remark that can’t be repeated in this PG-13 blog. I clucked my tongue, rolled my eyes, and he protested as follows:
“Hey, that’s pretty harsh—don’t forget, I supply you with about 70% of all the material you use in your blog!”
Yeah, well I sure can’t use that.
But now I wonder if he’s counting up the number of posts that stem from his little gem-like offerings, and creating a spreadsheet to keep track of the true percentages…
It wouldn’t surprise me.
I have long thought that our relationship is basically the equivalent of a science fair project for him. He says something offensive, and silently measures my response and/or reaction. If there’s no visible reaction, he ramps up the O&O-factor (Offensive and Obnoxious) till I break. It may just be a look, a rolling of the eyes, or a subtle shaking of the head. The verbal responses just tend to escalate the insanity, egging him on to defend his frat-boy comments. Thus I often opt for the silence I have perfected over the years. It’s so much simpler that way.
Still, I believe that somewhere in the house, perhaps under the bed, perhaps behind his desk, there’s a display board complete with graphs and charts, recording for all time how many crude comments it takes to get a rise out of me. There are the short-term responses and the longer-term trends. It’s likely titled, “Driving Leah Crazy, One Crack at a Time”.