Bill's Bulletin Board
By Bill Rea

I know I shouldn't use this forum to discuss my domestic concerns, especially when they involve such matters as my wife and myself, and what goes on in our bedroom. But perhaps by setting the facts down in writing, I might be able to make some sense of it all in my head.

It's not a case of serious disharmony. Indeed, when it comes to quarrels Beth and I have had very few in the almost nine years we've been married. And the traditional sources of arguments don't apply to us. We don't squabble over money because both of us are more inclined to save it than go out on sprees and blow it.

We have few disagreements when it comes to the dividing the household labours. Beth does most of the cooking, although I've fixed us a few meals from time to time. I did live alone for some 10 years, and a man in that position either develops a certain amount of kitchen savvy or he goes hungry. I also had the advantage of waiting tables for a couple of years, thus I saw enough professional cooks in action to pick up a couple of tricks. So unlike some men I have heard of, I don't have to wait for my wife to fix my grub for me, and that does come in handy, considering the numerous late nights I have to work in my job. As well, we eat out with a fair amount of frequency.

On the other hand, I do most of the household laundry, and have since the first days of our co-habitation. I'm not sure how that assignment landed in my lap, but it did and I have few problems with it.

I also do most of the handyman stuff and I keep the household books. Beth tends to the garden.

When it comes to the rest of the chores that needs to be done around the house, our relationship is about as traditional as it gets. Beth tells me what to do, I reply by saying "Yes Dear," and then go about doing precisely what I want.

No, the problem doesn't deal with any of these classic situations that have been so thoroughly dealt with over the years in countless sitcoms.

As I already alluded, the concern I have is centered in the bedroom.

Being a married couple, Beth and I naturally share the same bed. I'm not sure what size classification is, since Beth brought it into our union (I supplied the TV and the VCR). But its size is ample for the three of us, and Beth has assured me that I don't snore excessively. And no, you didn't read that last sentence wrong. I did state the bed has sufficient room for a man and a woman and a cat to sleep comfortably.

Sidney, our cat, being a typical feline, graciously allows Beth and I access to our bed at night, and sometimes even gets down off the bed, either to go exploring in the dark or find some other place to snooze. For some stupid reason, she seems to enjoy sleeping in the bathtub. But when she is on the bed with us, she prefers to snuggle up against Beth. That works out rather well. Beth is the cat lover in the family, so being close to any cat is something she welcomes. And since Sidney hates me (actually, the only thing about me she hates is my guts), there is a certain advantage there. Since she's not inclined to hang around people she hates, she's not likely to bother me too much.

That's not to say Sidney and I don't have out time together. She likes to sit on the end table near my end of the couch when we're watching TV, basically making a pest herself. And she also makes a point of hanging around me every morning when I'm drying my hair with a towel and Beth is busy downstairs munching on her cereal. Thus we usually have these roughly five touching minutes every day of genuine bonding between the undisputed boss of the house and the guy who was dumb enough to let a cat move in.

I can sense the frustration many of you are feeling as you have probably been waiting for some revelation worthy of a soap opera. "So just what is the problem?" I hear many of you cry out.

Well, I'll tell you.

While it is still officially spring, summer is in the air. Many of us are actually dressing accordingly. We think of sunscreen and summer vacations. Beth has even mentioned the "B word" to me a couple of times ("barbecue," for the benefit of those men out there who are not as domestically trained as I).

So when is it appropriate to open the bedroom window at night? That's the issue that has prompted this whole piece.

If I had my way, it would be open all night all the time. Indeed, that was the case when I lived alone. My bed, in the small apartment where I lived alone for some 10 years, was just a couple of feet from the window. Unless the elements offered the promise of a very wet floor to contend with, or unless I was ill (something that very seldom happens to me), I slept with the window open. If I found it was too cold, I had extra blankets, as well as the option of donning extra clothing. I was always of the opinion that the fresh air, whatever the temperature, probably did me a lot of good.

And as proof, I present the way I turned out. On second thought, just forget that you read this paragraph, okay?

But one of the first things a man learns when he enters the world of marital bliss is his life is changed forever. He quickly comes to realize that the dishes have to be done in a reasonable time (like during the same calendar year in which they were dirtied), the bathtub ring is not something to be preserved for posterity and one does not open the bedroom window in the middle of the night without permission (notice I didn't mention anything about leaving the seat up).

Now in the last week, I have been able to secure permission to open the window at night. Beth won't let me open it too wide, and that's fine with me. Just enough of a crack to provide some ventilation is all I'm really interested in. And it is a fact that Sidney seems to like having the window open. There were a couple of times in the last week when I woke up in the middle of the night and saw her on the window sill taking in the breeze.

True, our bedroom window overlooks a rather busy street, which attracts enough noisy traffic to wake us up pretty early, even over weekends, but who ever said this was a perfect world?

But if Sidney, who hates me, prefers the window open, one would think Beth would get the message.

But there's only so far I can push the message. Like most married men, I know my place.