"'Whatever'"

“What type of husband-ban-baan-baaand… does your wife’s-ife’s-iife’s-iiife’s…actions tell-ell-ell-ell you-oo-ooo-oooo that she need-eed-eeed-eeeeds?” 

She’ll say, “What do you wanna do today?!” bubbling like cola just poured.
And I’ll say, staler than last night’s beer stuffed with cigarette butts, “I don’t know. What do you wanna do?”

It doesn’t matter what the question is. It could be:
“What movie do you want to see?”
“I don’t know. It’s up to you. You pick.” Or,
“Where should we go to eat tonight?”
“Well, what do you have a taste for?”

I don’t mean anything by it. It just doesn’t matter to me. What I’m basically saying is, “Whatever – we’ll do whatever YOU wanna do”.

“Whatever”.

“Whatever” whether in word or action or attitude; “Whatever” even when being thoughtful and considerate; “Whatever”, even in its nicest form (devoid of any thread of it's comtemporary valley girl snottiness) is neither an answer nor a decision.

Admittedly, the above situations are simple. But simplicity can be a bubbling brook of truth and wisdom. And truth and wisdom, gleaned from simple situations, and left unapplied in more complex situations – including “this thing we do” – can lead to dire consequences.

SugarAnne is quite capable of planning our day. She knows her taste in movies. She knows what she likes to eat. SugarAnne ain’t no dummy. Many of you have enjoyed the intelligence of her blog; some of  you have partaken of her wisdom through email; others have laughed at her humor. I’ll add that she is a self-sufficient, independent and naturally free-spirited woman. So why would this helluva woman ask me about these rather simple things? What the heck is she looking for?! Er, Ahem, “What type of husband do her actions tell me that she needs” in these moments?

Lord knows I’m no expert. But when I speculate through the lens of my own feelings, I am persuaded that on some level, getting an answer from me to these simple questions, in these simple situations actually feeds what is feminine in Sugaranne - her feminine essence. I only say this because when her ear is leaning into my answers, and her attention is focused on my words, and her darling gaze is directed up to my eyes, it actually feeds what is masculine in me - my masculine essence. If I'm "get'n my boy on" surely she must be “get'n her girl on”. It's not scientific but it's not rocket science either!

In our "B.S." (before spanking) days “Whatever” was a power vacuum that sucked all the nutrients out of the air leaving in it’s place another “it don’t matter to me” (Bread 3:16) argument. And even though that confusion made itself clear, that wouldn't stop me from re-frying that shit and serving it up again and again hoping something would change. But nothing changed. It would just leave her starving for the femininity that “Whatever” could never feed. And it left her nothing to feed on but the masculinity I unwittingly vacated. She actually could’ve gone into a cannibalistic feeding frenzy that would make a school of piranha envious. Some women would've. But she didn’t. She didn’t like the taste. I think now, “If only I had simply fed her starving femininity in those "B.S." moments…”

So when I hear, “Should I wear the mauve taupe or the tuscan red nail polish?” I might be caught of guard. I might rattle my smokestack like Scooby-doo and go, “Hu-uh!” And I might, I just might be thinking, “What the fuck?!” Because, frankly, I only have so many shades stored on my color spectrum. And I don’t remember mauve taupe or tuscan red in the 8 crayon box of Crayolas! But one thing is for sure. I will be watchful not to respond with -  “Whatever”.

Listen, I know Sugar’s capable of deciding which nail polish to wear. She’s not REALLY looking for an answer to that. She needs me to be feed her femininity. So I’ll simply ask her to hold them both up. And I’ll take a really good look. And I’ll think; and I'll scratch my chin; and I’ll say, “Hmm” (add smirk for effect). And then, then I’ll make a non-patronizing, sincere selection. After that I'll put it back into her hands – if it really makes no difference to me or – if the final decision is hers. That’s the type of husband her actions are looking for in moments like these. To do otherwise is to starve the feminine essence of the woman I love and – worse yet – to vacate the masculinity she desires and adores in me. And the consequences of that are dire for the complexities of “this thing we do”.