The Great Compliment Shift

Gary, bless him, is generally not a jealous man. I take credit for part of that: early on in our marriage, when he would show a hint of jealousy, I would ask, “What part of me bellowing like a rhinoceros don’t you understand?”

That did the trick, with a few exceptions. There was onetime, I was headed out to see a movie with two male friends, that he gave me quite a cinematic kiss, stuck his finger in my face, and growled, “Don’t forget that tonight.” And of, course, he has recently taken to calling me “Whore,” if I throw some words of affirmation at random men.

But in general, he’s pretty secure. That’s why if some man at work is foolish enough to pay me a compliment — I don’t take compliments well, fancy that — I am confident enough to let Gary hear about it.

In the past, his reaction has been determined by how he has spontaneously judged the man giving the compliment.

First off, he never thinks the man is paying me a genuine compliment, when in reality that is almost always the case.

• If he feels the man is a crotch-sniffing dog, he says, “Hah! Good luck with that, fella.”
• If he feels the man is not a crotch-sniffing dog, he says, “That’s great! You go, fella.”
• Then, regardless, he says that I should expect that because I am “so pretty and sweet.” (Gag.)

This is where the shift has come in.

This last time, he said I should expect that because I am “so smart.” (Smart?)

So that’s where we are, now, evidently. That’s my new appeal, my brain. Not my sexy feet or my good nature.

He’s said it twice in the last year. I mean, at least he’s being honest. But, still. Part of aging, I suppose.