>The Art of Marriage

>It had happened again. On the floor, directly beneath the coffeemaker, ground coffee was scattered like chicken feed. I sighed. Only one person could have been responsible.

“Hubs!” I shouted. “Did you spill coffee on the floor?”

“Yeah, I did,” he said, strutting into the room. “You never put any ground coffee into the canister, so I have to try and pour it in myself. And that’s what happens.”

“That also happens sometimes when I do it. But I clean it up. I thought you would, too.”

“Well, I didn’t,” he grumbled defiantly.

I clenched my fists in exasperation and tried to refocus on something positive. Think. Think. Oh yeah. The Oscars!

I had been working on our Oscar picks all weekend. Hubs’ parents hold an annual Oscar pool and last year, my exhaustive Internet research had paid off to the tune of 50 bucks. Last night, we held a family meeting and made our picks based on my inside information. All I had to do was e-mail our picks to my mother-in-law.

I sat down at my laptop and began typing in our selections. Luckily, our choices were similar, with a little variation in the categories that were too close to call. With four ballots spread across the floor in front of me, I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake. As I sent off the e-mail, I felt we were in good shape for another Oscar pool victory.

Last night, the calls were fast and furious between our house and my husband’s family in LA. Halfway through the show, six family members were tied for first, including my husband and my 12-year-old. It was time for the “Documentary Short” category.

“Oh, this one’s a lock,” I said confidently. “It’s ‘God Sleeps in Rwanda,’ definitely.”

“But I chose ‘The Golden Age of Norman Corwin,” my husband said. “Because he was my favorite teacher at USC.”

I felt my stomach knot. I remembered the long speech Hubs had made about Professor Corwin during our Oscar meeting, but that hadn’t occured to me as I had confidently typed ‘Everyone picks ‘God Sleeps in Rwanda’ that afternoon. Oh well. There was no way it would win, and then Hubs would thank me for my mistake.

“And the winner is…” I held my breath. “A Note of Triumph: The Golden Age of Norman Corwin!” I gasped.

“I won!” My husband shouted. “I won! There’s no way anyone else chose that one!”

But Hubs. Hadn’t. Either. A few minutes later, we called the in-laws and they confirmed that Hubs was down for “God Sleeps in Rwanda.” The girls appealed to their grandparents for mercy; They were looking at his ballot and he had clearly chosen ‘Norman Corwin.’ The in-laws wouldn’t budge. Hubs was down for ‘God Sleeps in Rwanda’ and that was that.

I felt horrible. I had cost Hubs 50 bones. It took him a moment, but he recovered admirably. A few moments later, he was even able to laugh about it.

“I love you,” he said as he leaned over to kiss me during a commercial break. “But you really fucked me over tonight,” he whispered.

I had recovered, too.

“Yeah. You shouldn’t have left those coffee grounds on the floor,” I murmured back.

Ah. Marriage.