Marriage

"I don't know what to do with my hair," Steven said the other day. "What should I do?"

"I think we've reached a point in our marriage," I said, "where I'm not going to discuss your hair with you any more."

"Why not?" said Steven. "I need your help."

"Because we have the same conversation every few months and you never listen to me and I'm not having this conversation any more."

"I'll listen now. What should I do?"

"I have ceased to care what you do with your hair," I said.

"Come on," he said. "Tell me."

"Well I'm just going to tell you what I always tell you."

"What's that?"

I sighed. "I always say you should go to an actual hair dresser and get an actual hair cut, and then you totally ignore me and go get your hair cut for, like, $5.00 at Astor Place, and then you come home and say how much you hate your haircut."

"Okay," said Steven. "I won't do that. So where should I go?"

"Go to Medusa, where I go. The guy who did my hair was really nice and I'm sure he'll do a fine job."

"I'm not going to some place called Medusa."

"That's why I'm not having this conversation any more," I snapped.

"Well if that's how it's going to be, then I'm not having any more conversations with you about stuff that you don't take my advice on."

"Like what? I always take your advice!"

"You never take my advice," said Steven. "You complain about the pregnancy weight and when I say it takes nine months to put it on and nine months to take it off you say I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Oh that," I said. "That's because you don't know what you're talking about."

"Ah hah!" said Steven.

"Fine," I said. "Go to Medusa."

"I don't want to. I'm going to go get my head shaved. See how you like that."

"I'd love it," I said, "if it would mean we could stop having this conversation."