It Don't Matter......

"It don't matter..."

Those three little words will be the ones that cause me to **SNAP** one day in the I-hope-very-distant future.

Those three little words, not JUST because of their poor grammar, drive. me. crazy. They're wimpy. Wishy-washy. Indecisive. Noncommittal.

The time I hear these words the most is when I ask Hubby something, usually associated with food.

"Where do you want to go eat?"
"It don't matter."

"What would you like for dinner?"
"It don't matter."

"Would you like tea or milk with your sandwich?"
"It don't matter."

"Do you want to grill at home this Saturday, or go out to eat?"
"It don't matter."

For the last two in particular, PUH-LEASE! I gave you two choices. If it truly "don't matter," then just PICK ONE FOR PETE'S SAKE!!!!!

If I back up to the first example, I would argue that it surely DOES matter where we go out to eat. He gets tired of Mexican food, he has never eaten at a Chinese restaurant in his life, and he's not particularly fond of one of MY favorite restaurants in town, a bar and grill (or pub, if you will) famous for its wings but also home of a fabulous turkey Reuben sandwich. If he's in the mood for a good steak, we have to go out of town, either to the college town (which depends upon any number of on-campus activities, especially sports) or to the next largest town in the other direction, which gives him yet another opportunity to say, "It don't matter." Sigh.

As for the second question about what he wants for dinner, I guess technically he's right in that "it don't matter" because he isn't THAT hard to please. Other than the fact that he won't eat rice, seafood, most vegetables or anything with a noodle in it, he's not picky. I can cook a four-course meal (theoretically...I mean, it's never been tested) or I can fix him a grilled cheese sandwich, and he's okay with either one. In his words, all he wants is something "to fill up the hole." Sometimes (often?), though, the question "What do you want for dinner?" is not an indication that I'd like to be sure I prepare something to please him. It can also be a cry for help, a symbol that I would appreciate some help, if not with the preparation of said meal, because THAT will never happen, at least with the energy-sapping task of deciding what it is I will cook. Or throw together. Or order.

He must have gotten it honestly, though. Today I went down to his mother's house, determined to cook something that would make her eat. She hasn't wanted to eat much lately, especially since the plate the doctor made for the roof of her mouth doesn't fit well. But she is due to start radiation week after next, and she absolutely must build up her strength as much as she can before that starts. The doctor has already said the radiation would make her mouth sore and dry, and I'm sure she won't want to eat then. But she can't be in an already weakened state when the radiation therapy begins.

She's not hard to please either, but she shares Hubby's reluctance to make a decision.

"What can I fix you to eat?"
"It don't matter."

"What do you think you might want to eat?"
"I can't think of anything." (At least that's a variation on the theme.)

This afternoon I decided I've been taking the wrong approach, at least with my mother-in-law. Instead of asking her what she wants, I went down to her house and scrambled an egg with cheese and put it in front of her. "Eat," I told her. But I was kind. Or at least not unkind.

I had to open a new pack of cheese, though, and I didn't want it to dry out before she uses it up. So I asked for some direction as to what to do with the rest of the block of cheese. (Doesn't everyone buy it already shredded, or am I the only lazy one out here? Hello? **Crickets** **Crickets**)

"Do you have some sandwich bags, or do you want me just to wrap this cheese up in plastic wrap?" I asked as I rummaged through her kitchen drawers.
"It don't matter."

Sigh.

I found plastic wrap first, so I tore off a piece of that. Just in time for her to say, "There's some sandwich bags in there."

That sounded like it DID matter. I threw the piece of plastic wrap away.

Double sigh.

I'm going to try to be more self-aware when I utter any version of those words, though I'm pretty sure mine would be, "It doesn't matter." If it doesn't matter to the person asking the question (and it must not, or he or she wouldn't have asked), then I'll do something radical.

I. Will. Make. A. Decision.