You Know What I Mean

“What was that movie called again – the one with the guy?”

“Which guy?  The one with the nose or the one with the face?”

“Face.”

“Oh, yeah.  That was Meet the Parents.

This mode of communication is the norm for my husband and me.  After two decades of shared history, we don’t require extraneous details (such as nouns) to communicate effectively with each other.  Our lexicon is filled with invented words and phrases that mean much to us, but nothing to others.  Sometimes we don’t use words at all, but rely instead on a nudge, a nod, or a lifted eyebrow.

We know what we mean.

The only problem with living in this state of intuitive connection is how it undermines my ability to share my thoughts with anyone I am not married to.  The retail clerk doesn’t know what I mean when I ask for the shirts with the “right kind of sleeves.”  My waiter doesn’t know I need more water by the tilt of my head.  My hair stylist can’t seem to understand how to trim my hair “more than a little, but not too much.”

Simply press our foreheads together and PRESTO - information exchanged.
Simply press our foreheads together and PRESTO – information exchanged.

Worst of all is when this inability to express meaning invades my writing.  Those are the days when I start — and then discard — multiple blog posts, and when every attempt to share my ideas ends in frustration.  Sometimes it seems like the right words don’t even exist, and I end up banging the laptop lid closed — convinced I have nothing to say and even less to write.  Then I go stomping through the house, more than a little angry over my poor performance as a writer.

Luckily my husband can always make me feel better.

“Why don’t you right about that thing?”

“Which thing?  The one with the girl or the one with the dog?”

“Girl.”

“Great idea!”

And just like that back, I’m back at the keyboard.  It’s great having someone who, you know, gets me. But more than that…he understands me in a different way…it’s more like sensing my thoughts, an intuitive understanding of…stuff.  It’s hard to explain, but…

You know what I mean…don’t you?

*This post inspired by the Daily Post.
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