The Jury

When Phil and I get in an argument, I think he says insane things. Not just things I don’t agree with and not just rude things or heat-of-the-moment things. INSANE things. I don’t want you to think he’s crazy, so I won’t report any examples here.

When he says these things I get quite passionate about talking him down, showing him how to be reasonable, and generally convincing him that I am the levelheaded one and all things that I think and say are sensible. Sometimes I have to shout to prove how rational my thinking is. It’s like the bumper sticker I saw the other day, “Don’t believe everything you think.” No matter how much foot stomping or clear speaking I do, I never get very far.

In the heat of the moment, I fantasize about the Jury. The Jury is a group of about 5-10 of our mutual friends who would essentially side with me if they were listening to our argument. I see them sitting on a bench set up along the side of our bedroom or kitchen or wherever we are. After they take in our perspectives, they would make a ruling. Chris, Ajay, Suzi, and Ha are always on the Jury, because they are our oldest joint friends and know us best. Ajay would be the captain (Sorry, Chris, it’s not an elected position and Ajay is more Swiss than you). Unfortunately, no family members make the cut on the permanent Jury seats; blood is thicker than water and that makes them impartial.

The rest of the jury selection varies depending on the topic under discussion. Parenting? I’d call in the Corner Coop teachers. Speedy decision-making? Ara, my father-in-law (I’ll make a special family exception because he’d vote with me), Molly Wolfe, and Darcy get to share the Jury bench and Chris gets an extra vote. Decorating? Erika, Amy, and our moms (again they get a special exception because they’d vote with me). Fashion issues? Aarti, Erika, Julie, both of our mothers, Laura, and my brother.

Last weekend, we drove to New York. And, as you might expect if you are driving into Brooklyn at 5:30 on a Friday and you have two tired kids in the way-back and your husband is trying to navigate from the middle seat, Phil started doing insane things. At least that’s how I saw it. And conveniently sitting shotgun was our friend, Alex. By the time we reached our destination I was boiling mad. And it was Phil’s fault. He was tense. He back-seat driving. He was being unfair. And worst of all...he wouldn’t admit it.

As we unpacked the car, we had words. Alex stood there with a pillow under each arm and took it all in. Actually, she quietly took the children upstairs while we worked it out. Within 10 minutes it was all resolved. He said he was sorry that the things he was saying were coming across tense, but he didn’t feel tense. I accepted that I was maybe a little tense and took a little responsibility too. We kissed and he went off to meet some friends on the Upper West Side.

Here’s were I saw my chance. I had a jury of one, Alex, waiting upstairs to side with me. When I got upstairs I told her and the kids that it was all worked out. Nothing to worry about. Then, as an aside, I asked Alex, “Wasn’t he being so intense in the car? I couldn’t believe it.” Then I waited for her guilty-as-charged verdict.

She smiled and said, “I dunno, Em, you were pretty tense.” Then she paused and saw my gapping mouth and added, “You both kind of were.” She really meant that I was the tense one, but softened the blow with an addendum.

Justice can be bitter.