Recently I watched Sex and the City again in a hint of nostalgia. There was, among other things, a scene in which Mr. Big and Carrie sit next to each other in bed and both read a book with reading glasses on their noses. I found it kind of cute and romantic. Yes, that's how I had imagined marriage at the time. Now I "actually" have that too. Except that my husband doesn't hold a book in the evening, but his cell phone. Most of the time he actually does nothing other than what he would do with a book, namely: reading. Sometimes he also hears an audio book. very rarely does he watch a series of Game of Thrones. So really no reprehensible evening activities … and yet I hate it and at the same time ask myself: Why actually?
The cell phone as the final boss
Admittedly, I'm not the most subtle person. If I want to tell something, it bursts out of me, even if it may not fit at times. That means it is sometimes a bit difficult for me to get the attention I need. Simply because that would actually be a bit demanding … But if my husband's level-headedness is level 1, his patience, which eventually dries up, level 2 and our children in and of themselves level 3, then his cell phone is definitely the final boss for me and mine Urge to be noticed. The blue-glowing filthy part is much more successful than I am in maintaining it. And yes, damn it, I'm jealous!
Why don't men read women's magazines?
It has long been proven: smartphones are really the plague for relationships. Less sex, fewer conversations, less eye contact. It's in every damn women's magazine in the world. Unfortunately my husband doesn't read them. And he doesn't understand my problem either. For him, the cell phone is a place of retreat, that little bit of ego time that should be reserved in the stressful everyday family life. Available to everyone at all times? A horror show for my husband! That's why he doesn't feel guilty when he sips a coffee on the terrace with headphones on his ears and a cell phone in front of his nose. There he sits, like a blank screen with a key lock, only interruptible for emergency calls.
Enviable or reprehensible? I dont know!
In fact, I can't even say that I sit on my cell phone much less often. Only that I answer via Whatsapp in the class chat, that we also give 2 euros for the gift of the trainee teacher, that Emma can come to us and that … oh, stuff that does not necessarily enrich me personally. Orga stuff. And no matter how lost I may seem, if my children want something from me, I'm there. So is the envy of a life without a mental load simply the new penis envy? Am I angry because he can adjoin and I can't? Or is it just rude of him to dive like that? Hand on heart – I have no idea. But what I do know: In my bedroom, the cell phone has no place in my eyes. Now have a new plan. I'm going to make an aluminum hat and simulate great fear of radiation damage. For more sex. Less aggression, And for a book in my husband's hands.