What can I do for my friend?

"I'm married to a robot!"

"He thinks emotions are illogical. I have to rationalize everything."

"He gets these interests and he just throws himself into them. If he isn't doing them, he doesn't know what to do with himself. Right now he's into running, but I feel like I've lost my husband to running. Running is his other woman."

"The closest we get to each other is sitting next to each other on the couch. He doesn't seem to understand that I want more than that! He thinks that's quality time together."

"He worked on our 15th anniversary! He knew it was our anniversary, but he said he thought we had agreed that he would take whatever other shifts he could. He couldn't understand why I wanted him to make an exception to the rules!"

"He's such a good husband and a good man. He doesn't drink or gamble. This is really not a big issue. Why does this bother me so much then? I don't understand how he thinks. It's been almost 18 years and I still don't understand my own husband! It's so hard!"

"He has a lot of trouble putting things into words. When he was younger, he was told he had a learning disability. He's a really smart guy, he just has trouble with explaining stuff. He's a doer, not a talker."

All the above were statements from a friend of mine, trying to make sense in her marriage.

Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking?

I've agreed with my husband to not disclose the difficulties we've had or my husband's diagnosis with anyone locally. The friend's self-esteem is shot and she's blaming herself for all the miscommunications and difficulties.

How can I be a good friend to her in these circumstances?

It's a good thing I wasn't drinking anything...

When people are laughing, they're generally not killing each other. ~Alan Alda

We were driving home from church today when Andrew realized we needed to get gasoline in the car somewhat soon. We were passing a Wal-Mart, so he asked if they had a gas station. They didn't. Andrew was obviously disappointed and pulled into a gas station next door instead. When he pulled up to the pump, he just sat there and let out a loud sigh as he mumbled something about pre-paying. I mumbled back that it was a moot point when one was paying with a debit card and Andrew said that he had wanted to go to the Wal-Mart to be able to use his cash.

I pointed out that the gas station we were at would also take his cash and suggested he give them a $20. (It was an expensive station and that would be plenty to get us home to cheaper supplies.) During all this time, my thoughts were really on a woman who stopped 5 yards from a trash can and then wobbled over to it in her too high heels to throw away a bag of trash and I was hoping she hadn't worn the interesting outfit to church, then correcting myself and hoping that she had worn it to church and not to other possible venues more likely to be associated with the style of dress. Andrew seriously asked me what they do if you give them too much money. I brought my attention back to us as I said that you go back in and they give you your change. It turns out he's never pre-paid with cash before.

This is particularly amusing to me because anything car-related is Andrew's domain. One of his previous passions was cars and he knows them inside-out and backwards. I don't even bother to think about car stuff because I know Andrew has it covered. But today, he was sitting in the driver's seat apparently assessing his options of purposefully underpaying, driving to a new station, or losing any excess because he didn't know what else to do at a pre-pay gas station.

He's knowledgeable about so many things, always beats me in games of strategy, and often feels like he has done no wrong since he has good intentions, so little amusing moments like this help me to love him because I can see that he does have vulnerabilities, doesn't know everything, and is just as human as I am and still has much to learn. I feel like more of an equal to him. I feel like a friend. It feels good to laugh.

What monstrous absurdities and paradoxes have resisted whole batteries of serious arguments, and then crumbled swiftly into dust before the ringing death-knell of a laugh! ~Agnes Repplier

"But he thinks you're attractive, doesn't he?"

A friend was confiding in me her struggles with body image, compounded by her husband's struggles with purity in his thoughts. She said to me, "I know that's just the way men are wired. Isn't your husband the same?" I hesitated a moment, trying to find a way to be honest while simultaneously meeting her desire for support before deciding there was no way to do both.

"That doesn't happen to be one of his particular struggles. He'd be more likely to notice the keychain a woman was carrying than the skirt she had on." I added a lighthearted laugh in an attempt to keep the conversation casual and moving forward, hoping to convey through my tone of voice and body language that I did understand her concern even if I didn't share the same circumstances.

"But he thinks you're attractive, doesn't he?" she said with some incredulity, apparently more worried about my body image at this point than her own.

"Oh yeah...when he thinks about it."

The conversation quickly trailed off, replaced by superficial banter. I knew that it would have been one of those bonding moments that bring women together had the discussion gone differently and I silently mourned the loss of commonality and friendship. I don't discuss my husband's differences with acquaintances both to respect his request and on principle (I have plenty of weaknesses of my own I wouldn't want him bringing up in casual conversations), but the kinds of conversations women have around me rarely address my marriage's particular struggles anyway. I imagine my friend felt more alone than ever, wondering if she was the only woman concerned about her husband finding her slightly-larger-self attractive at the end of the working day in which he was surrounded by a seemingly endless supply of thin, young women in heels. Since weight isn't something I struggle with, she politely implied I wouldn't have a clue what she was going through and hasn't brought the topic up again. What she didn't know is how much I could sympathize. The feeling of worthlessness, unattractiveness, and competition with "the other" that is created when a woman wants to feel loved in a way she can understand is something I experience regularly even though my husband doesn't have roving eyes.

On any given day, I could walk right in front of my husband buck naked and be completely invisible to him and totally ignored. The few times I hinted at his lack of interest in me or my life, I was told that my husband must be gay, must be having an affair, or must be involved in a gay affair. The marriage counselors we visited had no idea what to do with us. One called my husband an "odd duck." No one could relate.

"The other" I compete with is my husband's latest passion. This week that would mean he'd notice me if I were carrying a box of oh-so-difficult to find .380 bullets but in the past it has been anything from his connections to his family-of-origin to entrepreneurial ideas and anything you could imagine in between (before our marriage, his passion was me which is why he showed so much interest at the time and was able to woo me off my feet), but it has never been another woman (or man, for that matter) that I was romantically competing with. How can I be so sure? I asked him.

In a series of short and direct questions, his answers of no to every one means if he has ever had an affair (which I doubt), it is buried so well that I am not going to discover it. While my husband has a natural skill for answering what was asked and not what was intended, and because of his literal take on words he is adroit at talking in loopholes if he desires (meaning our entire conversation can quickly focus on the implications and definitions of particular words if I don't stay vigilant), he is unlikely to outright lie.

My friend went home and told her husband yet again about her insecurities. He assured her that he thought she was beautiful, hugged and kissed her, held her hand more, spontaneously praised her, and overall spent time and effort showing her his love. The next day, he was back to the demands of a high-pressure work environment and was ignoring her need for frequent flattery for the most part, but she was buoyed for a while and able to communicate her needs and fears effectively. I told my husband about our conversation and how isolated I felt in not being able to relate with other women. He nodded his head and said, "Mmmm..." in agreement, never lifting his eyes from his plate or giving any other indication of concern or support. He didn't touch me all that evening until he leaned over to kiss my forehead to say goodnight--one of the few times our routine includes physical interaction. It was a little underwhelming so I expressed my frustration and desires on how it could have gone differently to his expressionless face. Getting nothing, I said, "I need you to hold me." He happily obliged, wrapped his arm around me, and was snoring in contentment, happy with the perfection that was currently his life as I laid alone in the dark and cried.