There Is No "We" In Team

Pronouns destroyed my marriage. Seriously. The irony of this fact lies therein that I was an English major. So it’s kind of like poetic justices that pronouns were the demise of J-Fed and I’s union. Maybe I’ve lost you, but let me explain.

I’m talking about pronouns. I.. You… We… Mine… Yours… Yes, those pronouns. When I learned about these parts of speech in grade school, I don’t remember one teacher EVER telling me to use pronouns as if my life depended on it, and certainly not my marriage.

“I am so sick of YOU,” I’d scream.

“You are a bitch,” he’d yell.

“I hate YOU,” I’d rage.

“You are the devil,” he’d accuse.

Most of the accusations we leveled at each other always started with “I” or “You.” This was pretty pathetic because we knew the grave danger of namecalling and improper use of pronouns thanks to YEARS of marriage counseling. We’d been through it all. Yet we couldn’t seem to follow the unspoken code of conduct when it came to treating each other with respect. WE were pathetic. As I reflected about the inappropriate use of pronouns, I wondered how many other couples were out there who could attribute the fall of their marriage to bad grammar. I’m sure there were plenty.

“Get out of MY house,” I’d shriek.

“Oh, it’s YOUR house. That’s funny. I thought I paid half of the bills, yet it’s YOUR house. The truth always comes out in anger doesn’t it,” he’d retort.

My money… Your attitude… My car… Your problem…

Of course, I never intended things the way they came out, but J-Fed was so literal. I mean, honestly. If I said, “J-Fed, hand me my bra please.” Would he have said? “Oh so, it’s YOUR bra, not OUR bra.” I doubt it. Or if I asked him, “J-Fed, have you seen my vibrator?” Would he have replied, “Um, Kiki, that’s OUR vibrator.” Of course not. So why did it matter if I called it my house? I guess because our marriage never really felt like a joint venture to J-Fed. He always thought I was looking out for number one, and he was just along for the ride.

As bad as I was with pronouns, I had no one else to blame but my mother Kuku. Although my use of pronouns was bad, her usage was the worst. I couldn’t count the number of times my father got pissed off when she rattled off an opinion using “we.” My father would always look at her, regardless of who was in the room and say, “We? Do you have a frog in your pocket?”

Needless to say, it was for sure a pronoun that brought my marriage to its knees, and it was uttered by none other than Kuku. During my pregnancy J-Fed and I had gotten into a wicked argument, one of thousands. Suffering from dehydration, I needed to go to the hospital and J-Fed believed I was being “dramatic.” Of course, I called Kuku to take me and it was all downhill from there. Fed up with Kiki and Kuku, J-fed lied in the bed defeated, feeling as if he would never win with US.

After I ranted and raved at J-Fed like a maniac, I told him it was over. Of course Kuku had to throw in her two cents.

“WE want a divorce,” she told J-Fed. That was the beginning of the end. Or was it the end of the end? I’m not really sure, but I know things between Kuku and J-Fed were never the same again. I mean, J-Fed always complained that he was married to two women and in that “WE” she had proven the poor Fedster right. There probably isn’t a man on this Earth who would ever tolerate being told by his mother-in-law that “WE” want a divorce.

I can see where J-Fed was coming from in being angry. I still cringe when I think of her saying it. And J-Fed never misses an opportunity to remind me that "we" wanted a divorce. And now "I" am getting what "WE" asked for. Sigh.