Just a note in male misunderstanding. All caps for a moment: WE SHOULD NOT TRY TO FIX THINGS. For me this goes across the board from inanimate to organic, but this post is specifically about the loved ones in our lives who share with us their most intimate issues. This is going to blow your effing mind: they don't want us to fix a damn thing. Granted, there are some exceptions, like when they ask directly, "can you fix this?" And they're holding an actual physical possession you actually physically broke during a Bronco game. Other than that, and most often when it's a female, FIXING IS NOT IN ORDER.
The incident that brings me here this evening is with my wife, a perennial victim of my fixes, who was airing her grievances about her job search. All the lady wants is something part time to stoke the coffers and keep her from going nuts. In no surprise to the professional world, the woman has garnered much interest. Apparently, however, asking a company for part time is equivalent to begging for a fiscal screwing. It's amazing how little anyone wants to pay someone who can't go full time (ignore that if you're reading this during work hours.)
Yesterday I came home to a person who needed to share and vent. It's one of the main reasons we enter holy matrimony: to have partner with whom you can talk smack about anything or anyone (although you probably should limit it to everyone except that person. That's a different post I hope you don't require.) Sarah was giving me all the details of a call between her and a company's HR, when she said that, along with her references, they wanted all of her W2s from 2006 to 2011. First of all, if you need someone's tax dossier to get them in the door, you have trust issues and probably shouldn't be dealing with personnel. Secondly, if you're the husband/lover/whatever listening to this vital emotional release, don't interrupt and say, "I totally have all your W2s. They're in the filing cabinet downstairs."
It's somewhere in there where Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head. She was done talking. I wasn't (unfortunately) and rolled on like a brakeless semi about how I could get all the paperwork. And then I stopped. And Sarah looked at me. That look. You know, as if I were her 7 year old who'd just done a thing that people do when their frontal lobe hasn't fully developed. Because SHE ONLY WANTED SOMEONE TO LISTEN.
Now I know I've provided my wife with many opportunities to flash back to "for better or worse" and wonder if she's reached the lower extreme, and even though this is but one minor offense, it builds up. Especially when she knows that I know better. Listen. Don't get out your emotional tool belt and start going to work while she's talking. Listen. And it's amazing--and this could be the problem--it's amazing how simple life can be.