Are We There Yet?
She's right, he says, and she's always right
LORI CLINCH
My beloved spouse and I have our very own and unique way of hashing out our differences.

It usually consists ofme going into a fullblown fit while he occasionally glances at me fromover the edge of his newspaper and mumbles something along the lines of, "Uhhuh."

Sometimes I get darnmad. I firmly state my case, shake my head from side to side and follow up by pointing one finger confidently toward the sky and determinedly stating, "And I mean it."

Trust me when I say that it would be muchmore rewarding ifmy husband would get irritated enough to argue with me now and then. Even if it were just a little.

Yet, while I'm bouncing off the nearest wall and spewing angry sentiments, he has the audacity to sit there and smile sweetly. As if that weren't bad enough, he's been known to patme on the back and assureme with, "You're right, you're always right."

Have you ever heard of the like?

"I amNOT right!" I said to himthe other day as I chased himout of the room. "Where do you get off telling me that I'm right? Maybe you're the one who's right; did you ever think of that? Tell me that I'm right, will ya?"

He didn't respond. Instead he left me alone to ponder the fact that I may well be right and it was making me spitting mad just to think about it.

I, for one, would like it better if we could really hash things out and firmly say how we feel. He could raise his voice, I'd raise mine back, we could both get downright angry, and I could then go through a long lecture that quite pleasantly ends with a resounding, "So there!"

Instead, each and every debate goes the same way. I quite snottily offer upmy opinions, he tellsme that I'mright. I getmadder than a hornet and he remains calm, cool and collected.

That man has some nerve!

Nicely enough, we agree onmost things. We both like the same brand of coffee, I keep the checkbook balanced, and he unrolls his socks before he puts them in the dirty clothes.

But there has been a subject of contention between us that has been ongoing for the past eight years. Although he may not have realized it, it was coming to a head and it concerned none other than one lumpy, torn and worn-out mattress.

It is a subject that I felt quite strongly about. It's an issue worthy of a lengthy debate, a matter that needed full attention, a little note-taking and perhaps the formation of a committee.

Simply put, I want a new mattress and he thinks that the one we have is just starting to get comfortable.

"I hate this thing!" I said as I crawled out of bed one finemorning.As far as I was concerned, I couldn't have been roughing it more if I had just climbed out of a pop-up tent to drink instant coffee by the campfire.

"Oh, you are right," thatman ofmine responded as he skipped across the bedroom floor. It was enough to make me come unglued, and he knew it.

"That thing is older than dirt," I called after him. "The springs have been sprung, the stuffing is flat, and quite frankly it has more dips and bunny hops than amotocross track."

"Correct you are!" he said as he headed off to make oatmeal and in doing so, just like he always does, he won the argument without actually making a single point.

Like the fool that I can be, I decided to outwait that man - make him beg for a new mattress. But the man is as stubborn as they come.

As I padded my side with foam and packed my hips in pillows, my husband slept peacefully on his side.While Imoaned and complained that I can't endure another sleepless night, he whistled with happiness and joy and fluffed his pillows as if he was about to snooze on a cloud of bliss.

The other night as I stood and stared at the mattress with dread, Mr. Happy-Go- Lucky came soaring through the bedroom like Superman. He landed on the bed in front ofme and exclaimed with great joy, "Is this not the most comfortable bed in the world?"

"Why, yes," I said,my tone dripping sarcasm, "it's as comfortable as an oldworn-out lumpy shoe."

"Ah," he said with a smile as he nestled in, "you're right, you're always right."

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch.com.