Let me say this about that.

Like most guys, I believe real “spousal communication” is an oxymoron.  No matter how hard a guy tries, he is never really successful in achieving true communication with his wife.  Why you ask?  Because of the “wife-filter”. 

Whenever a guy says something to his wife, it goes into her ears and straight to the “wife-filter”.  Only after a great deal of manipulation in the filter, is the husband’s communication sent to her brain.

What actually happens in the “wife-filter”?  First of all, the exact details are as shrouded in mystery and complexity as the “Internal Revenue Code of 1986″.  However, the scientists at the ‘Pointless Institute for Spousal Communication’ have informed me they believe progress is being made in deciphering the workings of the “wife-filter”.  Let me pass on the results of their latest…    experiment in communication between spouses:

Husband comments:  “I would like a ham sandwich.”

Wife Filter receives and translates to:  “zkkqqnvx *B 3,75mplq #4$+~njio&^>+:”

Wife’s Brain Hears:  “I think I should take you to lunch and afterward buy you a new pair of shoes.”

Wife’s Brain responds:  “I’ve had my eye on a new pair of black pumps.” 

Wife Filter translates to:  “dekdnhjk(^&gbsxdm3cvklf”

Wife responds:  “Why don’t you love me any more?”

It happens every day.

As the regular readers of LMSTAT know, I am a bit of a skeptic, so I decided to run my own experiment to verify the results of the ‘Pointless Institute’ study.  Mrs. Shambo was handy so I decided to conduct my experiment using her as my subject.  Now this woman and I have been together for thirty some-odd years.  Logic would have you believe that in three decades, we would have developed perfect communication between the two of us.  You decide.

Experiment Environmental Conditions:   Mrs. Shambo enjoys riding her bicycle for morning exercise.

Experiment Objective:   Mrs. Shambo is to report on her morning exercise session.

EXPERIMENT RESULTS:

Mrs. Shambo:  “Goodness, the wind was really blowing.”

Now, let’s just stop right there for a minute.  Yeah, that’s why they call it “wind”!  If it wasn’t blowing, it would be called “AIR”.  There is no such thing as “WIND” that isn’t ‘blowing’.  So you see, we’re already getting off to a rocky start.

Shambo:  “Go on.”

Mrs. Shambo:  “When I turned, I had to reduce the number.”

I quote: “When-I-turned-I-had-to-reduce-the-number.” 

What the hell does that mean?  Apparently the term “Go on” has caused the “wife-filter” to convert a conversation about ‘wind’ to something about ‘numbers’.  I am presuming she is trying to tell me something about her morning bicycle ride, but at this juncture we can’t be sure.  Experiment continues.

Shambo:  ” ‘When you turned?’  Turned what? Turned on?  Turned left?  Turned up?  Turned out?  Turned to Jesus?  What do you mean ‘turned’ “?

Mrs. Shambo:  “When I got half way, I turned around to come home.”

Now that makes perfectly good sense.  Apparently, there is an alarm on the “wife-filter” mechanism that senses rising frustration in the husbands voice and momentarily begins to translate a wife’s thoughts into English.  These fleeting moments must be captured quickly before the “wife-filter” alarm overheats and transitions from the use of the English language to the use of tears.  Experiment continues:

Shambo:  “OK.  What number are you talking about having to reduce? “

Mrs. Shambo:  “The number on the bicycle, you nimrod.  What number did you think I was talking about?”

OK.  At this point I’m at a complete loss, but I think I’m making progress.  This is what I know so far: a) the wind is blowing b) when she reached her destination, she turned around to come home and c) there is a ‘number’ on the bicycle that had to be reduced.  Where is there a number on a bicycle and why does it have to be changed to come home? 

Shambo:  “What number are you talking about, dear?  The serial number?  The number of wheels?  What?”

Mrs. Shambo:  “The number on the handle bars.  I had to make it smaller.”

At that point, I had an epiphany.

Shambo:  “Oh, now I get it.  The wind was blowing against you after you turned to come home and you had to shift to a lower gear – right?”

Mrs. Shambo:  “Why don’t you love me any more?”

And, that’s all I have to say about that.

Shambo