On the Fence

“Did you ever have to finally decide, say yes to one and leave the other behind, it’s not always easy, it’s not always kind, did you ever have to make up your mind?”
Lovin’ Spoonful

Every morning over coffee we face the same dilemma…making a decision. So many questions, so few answers. But one question in particular looms large. We deal with it daily.

Sooner or later she hurls The question from her end of the table. Everyday. Without failure. It’s always the same. I know it’s coming. I give her a head fake. It sails on by. I hide behind my barrier, the newspaper, pretending to read.

She likes watching the morning news on TV. I pull the same tricks on her that she does on me. “What do You think would be a….” She cuts me off. “Shhhh, I’m watching the news.” A temporary reprieve.

At a commercial break she asks The question again. I offer up, “Uh, I’m thinking.” That buys me another five minutes. But I know it’s coming again. I wait. I read. I buy more time.

“Can you for once answer the question?” she asks. “Just a minute,” I say. Then I sling a question back at her. “What do you think of our local county commissioners?” The question momentarily stumps her.

“Who cares?” she says. “We have only one vote.” A crack in the door opens. I ask her which candidates she prefers. Inane questions are diversionary tactics. She takes the bait, launches into a discursive on the low moral character of all politicians. It buys me ten more minutes.

“Wow! Did you see that Dick Clark died?” I ask. Her response is quick. “You’re about to suffer a similar fate.” The discussion is turning viral.

“Listen to me for once,” she says. “Focus. I need an answer.”

I fidget, set the paper down, pretend to think. I make facial expressions that indicate I’m giving the question my utmost consideration. I cock my head, scrunch up my forehead and grimace. I fiddle with my navel and finally scratch my head. I bite my lower lip and snarl like Elvis.

“Well?” she says. I take out my sword and jab her with another question. “Have the dogs been out?” She flicks off the TV. “I know your game, big boy.” she says. “You do it every time. Your digressions are cheap tricks to avoid making a decision. But today, Mr. Slick, you’re about to reap the whirlwind.”

Trapped. I know what being backed into a corner feels like. I live there. It’s serious now. All corners are serious business. “OK,” I say. “I feel your pain. It’s tough to decide this every day.” I try the old ‘compliment-her’ routine. It was a favorite of the three Stooges. It worked today about as well for me as it did for them.

My lips drip with honey as I compliment her on the wonderful job she’s done in deciding this question in the past without my help. It buys me nothing. I try a smile. I utter meekly, “Well, what do you think we should do?” Wrong question. Her palm slams the table. My teeth rattle. The dogs hide.

“My patience is getting short,” she says. “Decide now!”

I push my luck. I roll out the old standby as a last resort. “Sweetie, whatever you decide suits me.” My regret cannot retrieve the utterance as it zings from my lips. I curse my Id. It laughs at my predicament.

Her silence stuns me. I discover old standbys are like yesterdays girlfriends…old, outdated and useless. My ‘last resort’ is about as thin as the gold in a Saturday night wedding ring.

I sit on my fence and wonder: Why does the question, “What do you want for dinner?” always provoke such extreme reactions.

“That’s it, I’ve had it,” she retorts. She storms from the room, leaving me with the remains of her coffee. It’s warm and sweet as it drips from my face onto the newspaper.

Men just don’t get it, do they?

Bud Hearn
April 19, 2012