Bumble-Heads

It was one of those fights-to-the-finish known only to married couples where both sides pull out the stops. We butted heads as verbiage flew fast and furiously. Stiff body language and incredulous glares hit below the belt. An “I’m right, and you’re out-to-lunch” mindset kept ammunition flying. “Blah-blah-BLAH,” I crowed. “Wah-wah-WAH,” he replied. But BLAH! But…WAH WAH! No-NO! Oh yeaaaahhhh?

I sighed; he insisted. I demanded; he shrugged. I pouted; he made decisions he knew I didn’t like. I sneered; he retreated in passive helplessness. It was a tug of war. Give an inch and he’ll take a mile. He backed off and I advanced to take a stand.

Now I ask you this: how many married couples fight over PUNCTUATION?? We have to be in some tiny minority group, I think, but that’s what was going on. We were fighting over little electronic black dots on the computer screen.

You see, he was gracious enough to help me edit the memoirs I’ve been working on for a friend, and I was glad for another pair of eyes to take a look before the finished product went to press. Many of his suggestions were worthy of consideration, and I willingly and humbly bowed over and over before the throne of Professor-dom.

However, sometimes I wanted dashes where he wanted commas. I preferred longer, flowing thoughts where he liked short clips. He wanted division into two sentences where I wanted semi-colons. He was on a mission to wipe out anything “unnecessary” while I was on a mission to fluff out and create something artistic with words.

Eventually we resolved our opinions, and I believe the document became stronger for all of our sniper-shots at each other. Plus, we actually had a good time. No, a downright fun-and-games-time. It was all mock warfare, anyway – right? Pow-pow and bang-bang. Punch. Ka-whop. Shoot ‘em up with pop-guns. Wild Bill Hickock and all that.

The truce at the end of our work session meant white flags on both sides, not just one. At that point we both sighed with relief that it was OVER. Then we took the 63-page document to Kinko’s on a teeny-tiny thumb drive (how does that work, anyhow?) to be printed into 25 bound copies that will be finished tomorrow. Next week it will also be burned to 50 CD’s. Then it will land in the hands of unsuspecting readers who have NO IDEA how many dots and commas and dashes were slammed here and there all over those pages like so many hockey pucks by two arrogant, I-like-to-be-right bumble-heads: The Professor and The Would-Be Author.