My Captain has the most beautifully expressive eyes. Simultaneoulsy brown and gold, as burnt bronze, it’s easy to get lost in their warmth.
But when he aims them on something in particular, focusing intently, I swear they turn hard and eagle-sharp. So eloquent are they, often he doesn’t need to speak to convey his meaning. Even the brows above them are powerfully eloquent. Thick and even, they can speak volumes if he just lifts one or raises them both. And God help you if he furrows them.
Thankfully we don’t have a lot of furrowing going on around here.
What we do have an inordinate amount of, is Rolling. There is way, way too much rolling of they eyes going on at this house. And it’s usually aimed at yours truly. Believe me, My Captain’s rolling of the eyes communicates impatience, or disdain, or humor way ,way more effectively than any words could hope to. Most of the time, it’s humor.
But not always.
Yesterday My Captain and his father, Jay, were down in My Captain’s basement/patio project, lovingly known as “The Mud Pit,” when they called me down to discuss posts. Now, understand, I am usually not invited into these discussions because apparently I add too much confusion, but in this case, there was a decision that I had to make, as ‘The Woman of the House.’ They weren’t looking for input about dimension or material or structural logistics. No Sirree. They wanted simply to know if I wanted the posts that would hold the roof to the walk out to be ‘turned,’ or straight planked, or square. That’s my forte, apparently. That’s what I can bring to the table. I’m the designer. The stylist.
Me. The one wearing a ‘Mr. Bubbles’ T-shirt.
I put on my most knowledgeable face, and said with strength and confidence, “Of course we’ll go with the ‘Churned’ posts.”
That was when the first rolling of the eyes occurred.
He grinned, “You’re not making butter. They’re “Turned,” not “Churned.”
Without missing a beat, I replied condescendingly, “That’s how we say it in Ohio.”
Then came the second rolling of the eyes.
He chuckled, “Yes, when making butter.”
“Look, just make ’em ‘churned’. I know what I’m talking about.” And I walked away like I had better things to do with my time.
Then I went inside and immediately looked up “churned.”
Apparently I don’t know what I’m talking about. But damned if I’m going to tell him. He’ll have to look it up as well if he wants to prove I’m wrong. I don’t want that to happen, so I’ll just keep him distracted and busy enough that he won’t have time. And with any luck, he’ll forget about it and I’ll be able to remain a know-it-all in the “churned” department.
Aw, who am I kidding? He’s such a stickler for details, he probably looked it up on his phone the minute I turned my back.
And I bet he rolled his eyes when he did.