So I Married an ADDer

What Time Is It?

It's a simple question, really. "What time is it?" Typically, when you ask most people what time it is, they glance at their watch, or at the nearest clock, and give you an accurate answer.

But as we've established, my ADD partner Jen is not like most people. Whenever I ask her what time it is, I only get the hour. "8-something." We've been together for nearly 7 years, and I don't think she's ever told me the minutes.

Although this has always annoyed me, I never brought it up until the other day. "What do you mean I only give the hour?" she asked.

"You never say it's 5:25 or 5:47, only that it's 5-something," I answered.

Jen thought about it for a moment and then explained, "Well, unless I have an appointment, I don't need to know the exact time. I know if it's 6-something I should be making dinner. If it's 10-something I should be winding down for the night. What do I care about the minutes?"

To me, this seems like an ineffective timetable, but she does have a point. I don't technically need to know the minutes, either, in most situations. It's just standard practice. That's why we have clocks with a minute hand. And that's why, when I ask what time it is, I'm expecting more than one number.

I should probably start wearing a watch.

Lobster Bibs

As I was drifting off into a peaceful sleep the other night, I was suddenly awoken by my parter Jen, in typical fashion.

"Erin, why are there lobster bibs?"

"I don't know, Jen, go to sleep."

"No, really. Is lobster that messy?"

"I don't know, Jen."

"Is it because of the butter?"

"Maybe. Good night."

"I would think crab legs are messier than lobster."

"All shellfish has splash potential. Go to sleep."

"That's disgusting. Good night."

 

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Come hungry. Leave happy.

Since Jen and I have lost our taste for industrial food, there are very few restaurants we actually enjoy going to. And the ones that do serve traditional food are often pricey "special occasion" restaurants. So in the past year, we've gone from eating out several times a week to eating out once a month, if that. Given the choice, I will enthusiastically take Jen's cooking over some casual dining concoction bearing the word "sizzlin," but I do miss the act of restaurant dining.

Until I gave it some thought, I assumed I liked eating out so much because it meant no hassle and no cleanup. But one night last week, it dawned on me. When we eat home, Jen gets up from the table a minimum of 3 times during the meal.

"Be right back, I need to get a sweater."

"Be right back, I need to go find the salt."

"Oh shit, I left the stove on."

It was then that I realized I like eating out so much because Jen is forced to give me her undivided attention. It's a rare occasion that I don't get put on pause for random distractions, so I've come to really appreciate the whole dining out experience.

 

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