The Art of Not Listening

My husband is a pro at not hearing me sometimes. I'll say something and he'll not respond, and so I'll call him and get his attention, repeat it, and he'll then not respond again. Sometimes, he'll say, "Oh, I'm sorry, say it again, say it again!" So, I'll start over and say my thing again and half-way through, I'll see his eyes glaze over and can almost watch his brain retreating, scampering pell-mell back into that mystery space where no voice can be heard, at least not mine. It used to be infuriating; now, it's mostly just bemusing and intriguing. How does he do that?

It happened again this morning. I said a little ditty about what I'd just been doing. No response. So I mentioned to him that I'd said something, so he made a noise of some sort that meant: say it again. So I did. I'm sure that by the second word, he was completely gone. Planets away.....Now--in his defense--I sometimes will say something when he's reading or at the computer or otherwise mentally-engaged. So, I don't mind that he didn't catch it and that I need to repeat. But once he's pretending to listen, I foolishly believe that he is. Silly me. Silly girl. Sometimes I find it more fulfilling to talk to the nearest object--a chair or a shoe. At least I don't have any illusions about their ability to listen. Or not listen.

Beyond that, though, my husband has hundreds of other most-excellent qualities. As long as the only question on the test doesn't require any listening (or isn't read by me), he'll pass with flying colors.