Men are Mind Readers

Some days I just want my husband to read my mind. Okay, so I don’t really want him to read my mind. That could be embarrassing and potentially hazardous, but there are situations where ESP is not required. For instance, say I want to go to a concert with my husband. I’ve laid all the ground work. The newspaper with the article describing the concert has been carefully laid out on the kitchen table, on top of the sports section so he sees it first, with the box office phone number highlighted in hot pink. At this point he should be reading my mind like an audio-book, but he doesn’t. As a matter of a fact, when I mention the concert later he asks, “Who? I’ve never heard of them.” To which my brain screams, “You’ve never heard of them? You spilled your cereal on a picture of them this morning! Don’t you read?”


I quietly fume for a few days, eliciting curious stares from him as he desperately tries to read my mind, which thankfully he can’t because this is one time when it would be best for our marriage if he didn’t know what I was thinking. Finally he just gives up and asks what’s wrong and I tell him. His answer is simple, “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have taken you if I’d known that you wanted to go.” I did everything I could think of to hint, to suggest, that I wanted to go to the concert but I never asked.

Several years ago I came to the epiphany that while women are tuned into each other better than a GPS system, men don’t operate on any known female frequencies. My mother determined, by unloading my dishwasher once, that I needed new silverware and she bought me a box for Christmas. A girlfriend I hardly see knew that I was remodeling and gave me a subscription to a home magazine for my birthday. My next door neighbor brought over a pillow-sized bag of goldfish crackers because she’d seen my children eating boxes of them by the swimming pool and knew they liked them. Dissecting subtle clues about what the people around us want or need is our gift, but it’s non-existent in the male DNA.

Men want to solve problems and fix things. If our needs fall outside that category then they have to be told what we want, generally several times, and usually with visual aids. When my Dad or my father-in-law would come to visit, they’d change light bulbs, haul stuff to the dump, and fix squeaky doors because that’s their way of taking care of me. But when I wanted a Rob Thomas CD for Christmas, I had to tell my husband and write it down on a sticky note so he could carry it in his wallet. Then, as we’re driving along one day before Christmas a song comes over the radio and I smile at him and ask, “So who sings this song?” He answers, “Ricky Martin.” I shake my head, “No, Rob Thomas.” But I did get the CD for Christmas because, in spite of his inability to read my mind (or recognize singers), he wants to please me.

That’s the beauty of men. They’re generally more than willing to lend a helping hand, give us a hug, or tell us that we’re wonderful after we’ve had a bad day. We just have to tell them what we need. My husband is great at getting projects done without being asked because it falls into the “fix things” category. He’s also great about helping with bedtime and doing laundry, but only if I tell him that’s what I need from him.

So now, twenty years later, I have what I’ve always wanted—a man who reads my mind. All I have to do is tell him what my mind is thinking. After a bad day at work I snuggled in next to him on the couch and said, “I need you to tell me something sweet.” He looked at me funny, and kissed me on the lips, “Sweet? That’d be you.” I smiled and then he smiled, “Looks like you’re feeling better.” The man read my mind.