Tuesday, November 05, 2013

The Thing About Trolls


Here’s the thing.  I maybe should have warned my husband somewhere around 13 years ago what being married to a bridge troll entails.  He’s still a little taken aback at times I think.

Allow me to explain.  First of all, I am a self-confessed bridge troll (a.k.a. introvert for those of you who insist on being politically correct and all that jazz).  Picture the little snarly guy in The Three Billy Goats Gruff who continuously growls, “Who’s that tromp tromp tromping over my bridge?”  That’s me.

I don’t drool or slobber or literally growl—unless I’m working under a deadline, and then, well maybe just a little bit.  I try to keep the slobbering to a minimum, however.  It's quite unattractive.

So here are the things I should have warned him about:
  • If the phone rings, I actually visualize a tiny little grenade that just so happens to have a snappy ringtone.  Instead of answering the phone like a normal person, many times, I will THROW the phone at him, forcing him to answer it.  Because every ringing phone promises human interaction, and that can be exhausting for a bridge troll.
  • If the doorbell unexpectedly rings, this is actually a sign of the impending apocalypse.  I will drop whatever I am doing and IMMEDIATELY army crawl toward the stairs.  Once in my safe spot—the laundry room—I will wait for the “all clear,” letting me know that, in fact, the apocalypse did not happen.  Again.
  • My husband tells me that I cannot, no matter how much I want to, wear a paper bag over my head to social events.  What extroverts may not understand is that these events are exhausting to bridge trolls…ahem…introverts.  I am also not allowed to take a book and simply read in the corner at parties.  Therefore, before such events, a two-hour nap is required, and then in order to recover from attending such events, usually another nap or a glass of wine is necessary.

So those are the major issues.  Basically what he has on his hands is this troll who sits around the house in flannel pants, tapping relentlessly on a computer while wearing a paper bag on her head.  However, when the phone or the doorbell happen to ring, all hell breaks loose, and he has to go on the defensive, protecting all unseen bridge troll boundaries, however invisible and unreasonable they may be.

Yeah, I maybe should have explained that to him a little more clearly.  I’m pretty sure I appeared WAY more normal than that when we met.

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