A lawn jockey might do the trick

A guy I once knew (I'll call him "Ted", although his real name is Frankie Butterbingle) told me the key to any lasting relationship is the ability to really listen. At least, that's what I think he said. I wasn't paying all that much attention to him.

"Listening is becoming a lost art form," Frankie (sorry, "Ted") opined as he leaned back on one leather-patched elbow and smoked his pipe. We were in college, and he thought leather elbow patches on his tweed sport coat and stinky tobacco in his pipe made him worldly and desirable. In truth, with his frightening acne, obnoxious personality and a name like Butterbingle he was lucky to get a date with a Cyclops.

"You'd be wise to remember what I said," he continued, "if, by chance, you ever find a woman actually crazy enough to marry you."

I did remember what he said after I asked him to repeat it (he had interrupted my game of Asteroids in the Student Union gameroom). And I'm glad, because when I finally did meet a woman crazy enough to marry me, his little pearl of wisdom helped - sort of.

"Did you hear me?" my beloved asked.

"My darling, I always hear everything you say," I replied. I was watching the couple across the street argue. It was over a battered lawn jockey that he had purchased at a yard sale and re-painted to look like a streaker She was saying, I will not have that standing in front of our house, and he was saying, But it only cost fifty cents, and it will cover up the bare patch in the grass. I enjoy a good neighborhood spat when it's not mine, so I was hanging onto their every word, when my beloved said, "Okay then, tell me what I said."

Well, that would prove to be a problem, because the couple across the street usually has interesting and juicy arguments, and believe me, my radar was centered on them. She was saying to him in an acid voice that could melt his face: Is that thing supposed to look like a streaker? Then he said, defensively: Yes, that's the charm of it. And she said back: You may as well stick a moose head on a pole, you rummy, because it would have the same amount of charm.

"Tell me what I said," my beloved repeated irritably. When I don't answer her right away, she always irritably repeats whatever she said, thinking I'm for sure going to crap out and not be able to tell her.

"You said, 'Okay then, tell me what I said,'" I told her, knowing full well that in a million-and-a-half years I would never get away with that response.

"Tell me what I said before that," she said angrily.

The voices of the couple across the street had risen a few thousand decibels, so I had to decide where to concentrate my attention. On the one hand, I really enjoy eavesdropping on other couples' arguments, because it proves that my wife and I are not the only ones to fight over completely idiotic stuff. (The toilet paper is supposed to hang over, not under!) On the other hand, I don't have to wake up each morning with the woman across the street.

"I'm waiting," my wife said, her arms crossed. It's not a good sign when she crosses her arms, although that's not as bad a sign as when she starts tapping her foot. When she does them both together I break out in hives and live with my mother for a week.

"And I'm offended," I reply. (Yes, I was already on thin ice, but this strategy worked once before.) "You are my beloved, and I'm aghast that you'd think for one minute I wasn't listening to you. You should know by now that anything you say to me gets top priority - I love you that much - but instead you insult me by suggesting that I don't care. Honestly, I don't know whether to cry or what."

I know it's melodramatic, but if you could see the pained expression that goes along with the speech you'd probably try it yourself. The last time I pulled it on her I got a heartfelt apology and a nice shoulder massage with Ben-Gay.

As anxious as I was to return my attention to the squabbling across the street (I heard the woman say something snide about his sister and plastic surgery) it was more important to convince my beloved that I do listen to her, even when she probably knows better. I maintained eye contact with her, and drooped my head just a little to show how much she'd wounded me.

"All right, I'm sorry," she said, squeezing my hand. "You're right, I should trust that you know what I said. So then, you'll take care of it?"

"Absolutely," I replied, wondering what I was supposed to take care of, and what would happen when I didn't. Although, if I buy a naked lawn jockey it could take that future argument to a whole new level.