A Sound Bite of Married Life

I rather like the title to this 2003 Japan Times column, "A Sound Bite of Married Life," as "sound bite" can have two interpretations.

A "sound bite" might be a snippet of sound or a mouthful of content. Kudos to the editor who chose this.

Our Town won Thornton Wilder the 1938 Pulitzer for Drama. Since the play requires almost no stage props -- and the story is easy to follow -- it has since become a favorite of school theater groups everywhere. I remember watching friends perform the play in junior high.

At the time of this column, I was also teaching Our Town to university freshmen, as part of an introduction to American Literature for non-native speakers.

"Grover's Corners" is the fictional town in Thornton's play. "Taro" is a traditional and somewhat antiquated name for Japanese boys.

How genuine is the conversation that follows? It is indeed "based" on an actual household exchange. As for the breakfast dialog, those grammar patterns are straight from my old Japanese language primer.

In 2003, we had just hit our 24th wedding anniversary. In 2025, that turns to 46, reaching that mark on this very day.

Now, "A Sound Bite of Married Life:"

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A Sound Bite of Married Life

Aug 23, 2003

Mr. Wilder

On the morning of his son's wedding, Frank Gibbs, the neighborly physician in Thorton Wilder's Our Town, confesses to his wife that his chief concern in the early days of their own marriage was how to make small talk with his bride.

"I was afraid," he tells her, "we wouldn't have material for conversation more'n'd last us a few weeks."

Spin the world and switch sleepy Grover's Corners for wide-awake Tokyo, and I admit I had a similar anxiety when my wife and I married in 1979. In our case, however, my apprehension was partly powered by my dubious skills in Japanese. I envisioned sizzling breakfast talk not unlike the beginner dialogues in my Japanese language class:

Me: Excuse me, please? Is this a spoon?

Her: (Pausing) No, that's a fork.

Me: I understand. Thank you. Now, is this bacon or ham?

Her: Neither. It's your table napkin. Either talk normal or I'll stuff it in your mouth.

The good news is that I did indeed learn to talk (somewhat) normally and, while our current conversations are often a cocktail shake of two languages, like Dr. and Mrs. Gibbs, my wife and I have come to master the tricky art of marital discourse.

With our 24th anniversary now upon us, I offer this humble window into an honest-to-Taro, real conversation between two seasoned vets of international marriage.

Me: (Approaching from behind as she washes dishes) Hi. What's up?

Her: Leave me alone. I'm busy.

Me: You know, I just had a thought… Wouldn't it be fun if people's bodies made sounds whenever they were poked or bumped? Like, say, a squeaky toy does. Wouldn't that be great?

Her: Don't touch me.

Me: For example, "Booop!" or "Beeep!" That way if someone pinched you on the train, everybody'd know.

Her: Stop it right now!

Me: See, if your backside would go "Booop!" or "Beeep!" you wouldn't even have to say that. Your body would do it for you.

Her: (Bending her head and rubbing her brows) I'm afraid to hear where this is heading.

Me: It's just another practical feature that God should have installed, but didn't. I wonder why? Seems like an oversight.

Her: Can't you just talk about the weather, like other men?

Me: Nope. I prefer theology. So… what do you think? Did God goof or what? When I squeeze you…

Her: Stop it!

Me: Your bottom does not go "Booop!" What a waste. I mean, if he gave zebras such neat stripes, why didn't he give people musical buns? Do you think he likes zebras better?

Her: Zebras, I think, have a lot brighter things to say.

Me: But… hey! I've got it. All we need do is compensate for God's flub. When squeezed…

Her: Will you stop it!

Me: We can just yell "Booop!" in a loud voice. It will have the same effect.

Her: (Pointing at my head) You can't compensate for what you're missing.

Me: C'mon. Work with me on this. I'll squeeze you and you yell "Booop!" Okay?

Her: Stop it!

Me: Um, you forgot to yell "Booop!"

Her: I am not going to yell "Booop!"

AAOOOGA!

Me: I see your point. It's not so colorful, is it? How about "AAOOOGA!"?

Her: Absolutely not.

Me: You yell "AAOOOGA" and I'll finish the dishes. How's that?

Her: Oh, sure, and I only have three left!

Me: Then I'll do them tomorrow.

Her: Yes, you will. It's your turn.

Me: Okay. Then I'll do them for a whole week. C'mon. AAOOOGA! AAOOOGA!

Her: Stop it! You make me wish I'd married a Japanese.

Me: And what fun would that be? You'd just sit around all day bemoaning the economy and lusting after raw fish. No chance to share in intense thoughts like these.

Her: (Sticking out her tongue) Phllbbbb!

Me: Eloquent. But still not AAOOOGA. C'mon.

Her: Forget it.

Me: A week of dishwashing. No wait… a month! A whole month for one little AAOOOGA!

Her: (Not speaking. But the cogs in her mind are cranking.)

Me: Think of it… an entire month.

Her: And during that month will you refrain from these silly conversations?

Me: What silly conversations?

Her: Like this one. Or the one where you tried to convince me people should clap their feet instead of their hands.

Me: Now THAT was a good idea. We should have kept practicing. When was that? Last spring?

Her: Two nights ago.

Me: See? Time flies when you're living right. Now how about AAOOOGA?

Her: A whole month of dishwashing and no weird conversations?

Me: Whatever you say. I'm just trying to be the hand of God here. Ready? Here goes…

Her: (No reaction)

Me: Um, you failed to say "AAOOOGA!"

Her: I'm still thinking.

Me: Perhaps you like being squeezed. As for me, I could practice all night. So here we go. One more time.

Her: ...Aaoooga.

Me: What?! That's not right! It's not "aaoooga," it's "AAOOOGA!"

Her: I said it, so you owe me a whole month of dishwashing.

Me: That's cheating!

Her: But you said, "One little aaoooga."

Me: No! AAOOOGA! AAOOOGA! Can't you hear the difference?

Her: Ha, ha. You lose. I win. Phllbbbb!

Me: That's not fair. Besides, once is not enough. You have to keep doing it so it becomes automatic. So that anytime you're squeezed you'll instantly shout "AAOOOGA!"

Her: (Handing me the dishcloth) Here. I'm gonna go sit in the living room and lust after raw fish.

Me: (Watching her go) Well, okay. But at least practice a few AAOOOGAs. Or maybe clapping your feet.

Her: I'll just sit and enjoy some peace of mind.

Me: Hey… wouldn't it be cool if people could howl back and forth like wolves?

And so it goes. After 24 years, just like Frank and Julia Gibbs, I'm sure.

© Thomas Noah Wood

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