Me First!

It’s bound to happen in any relationship, and often, I’ll bet it frequently does. A couple has a decision to make about something and, perhaps, they don’t agree on the solution. It doesn’t really matter how large or small the question or topic might be. It could be as trivial as where to go for a lovely dinner out or who gets rights to the remote control for the evening. Or it could be as significant as choosing a new car.

It’s not that uncommon, right? One wants one thing, and the other wants something else. Resolving this vital question and avoiding a stalemate - or worse, a declaration of war - often requires the negotiating skills of a Mr. or Madam Secretary. The question is basic: who gets to choose? Who gets to go first?

And so, it was in our home. I’ll set the scene: the sun was shining, the fairways had thawed, and the golf course announced it was once again open for business. No more cries of “there’s snow on my golf course” would dampen the mood. Nope, not in our house. Hubby and I were excited and all set to play golf.

Until the inevitable occurred: a decision on which course to play. The race was on to see who could log in first to Fore-Tees, the golf course reservation app, and book a tee time on the course of their choosing. It went without saying that I wanted to play the shorter, more compact course - the one with the fairway that runs along the back of our house. I was hell-bent on getting a starting time there.

Why that course, you may ask? Because I’m a wimp. No, let me rephrase - because I’m a “Princess Golfer.” Yes, it’s true. If it’s too cold, I will start to whimper. If it’s too windy, the whining begins in full force. Never mind that we had installed a heater and an expensive cover on the golf cart. If I’m cold, I often give up early, climb the fence separating the seventh fairway from our warm and cozy home, and await my better half’s return. You’d think he would know that and be considerate, right?

Nope, not this time. Hubby loves the second, longer, wider course. There, he claims he has a better chance of losing fewer balls, feels more like the super-duper golfer he aspires to be, and, basically, just likes it better. Bottom line: it’s always his first option.

Which brings me to “me first!” On this day, hubby’s thumbs worked faster than mine, and he successfully booked the longer, wider, bigger, better course first. Feisty woman that I am, I didn’t appreciate the assumption that his wishes could supersede mine without even consulting me.

So, I did something that was, admittedly, not very nice. I canceled his reservation and made my own, booking us on the shorter, narrower, closer-to-home course that I preferred.

With me so far? Well, as it turns out, this was NOT the most considerate - or perhaps the wisest - thing to do.

The look on his face, followed quickly by the pout, accompanied by the “You did what?!” explosion from my normally affable hubby, let me know just how “not happy” he was. This, of course, led to a “discussion” about importances - i.e., whose needs took precedence and who got to choose first.

In this instance, I had severely underestimated how important playing this particular course was to him. In hubby’s world, this was his kingdom, and he was the ruler. The little white ball was his subject, and he was going to whack it, possibly lose it, and eventually get it into the hold on whichever course he wanted to play.

He was king. In his thinking, he had obvious, inherent male rights to choose first, while I was but a mere Princess Golfer, there to enhance the golf date. (I must admit, I do look pretty great in my new golf outfits.)

Sigh. What to do? I mean, seriously, what to do? I could give in just to keep the peace, or I could hold my stance and insist, in my feisty, feminist way, that we do what I would like to do sometimes. And so, a respectful discussion ensued in which we each made our positions heard.

In the end, we did not need to call for diplomatic intervention or sign a peace treaty. Calls to the State Department and the United Nations Council on Women were canceled. (They had much more pressing issues anyway.) Hubby and I resolved it in the old-fashioned way: talking it out and each compromising a bit.

The result? This time, he got to choose first, and I secured the right of first refusal on the next round.

While it may be true that men, primarily of a certain age, really do think their needs are the ones that matter first, resolving this age-old issue of “who’s first” may not always require the wisdom of Solomon. Sometimes, it simply takes listening, understanding, and possibly a good old-fashioned coin toss.

Now, if only world diplomacy could work this smoothly. Mr. Secretary of State, please take note!

© 2025  Annie Sokoloff