How Many Ways Can One Woman Explain the Same Thing?

Lately, his idea of consistency has become rather flexible, so eventually you decide to say something.

You start with a perfectly ordinary sentence: I need you to be more consistent.

Nothing exotic. No riddles to figure out, no poetry, no fine print tucked discreetly underneath. You know what you mean, he seems to know what you mean, and for one brief shining moment the English language appears to have done its job.

Then nothing changes.

Well.

Maybe you did not explain it quite right.

And this is how a woman who began with one uncomplicated sentence can find herself, several weeks later, presiding over what is becoming a surprisingly elegant eye exam.

Perhaps We Need a Stronger Prescription

The second time, you try gentler.

You wait for a calm moment, soften the edges and explain that you are not asking for constant attention, only a little more consistency. You add some context. You smile. You make it so beautifully clear that even the optometrist would struggle to find anything blurry.

Sir listens, nods, and for one lovely moment everything appears settled.

A few days later, absolutely nothing has changed.

So back we go to the chart.

Maybe that version was too soft. The letters were visible, certainly, but possibly they needed a little more presence.

This time you become wonderfully concise.

I would like to hear from you more regularly.

There.

Large print.

Top line.

Even the optometrist could go home early.

But when the result remains much the same, your attention turns, rather unfairly, to the sentence. Clearly, the poor thing needs another makeover.

So you start adjusting the lenses.

Better like this?

Or this?

Would consistency matters to me be clearer? What about I feel closer to you when we stay in touch?

Too emotional?

Fine. Out comes the emotion.

Maybe an example would help. Then again, the example may be cluttering things up, so out that goes too.

By now, version four is beautifully polished. One almost wants to frame it.

The Letters Are Getting Rather Large

Unfortunately, version four changes nothing, so the eye exam continues.

You try saying it during a lovely evening because timing may matter, then again when the problem actually happens because, well, maybe timing matters in the opposite direction.

You try fewer words. Then a few more, because suddenly the shorter version sounds oddly severe. You make sure you do not sound disappointed or demanding, and eventually settle on a tone so beautifully neutral it could accompany a vase of white tulips.

Sir continues to peer at the chart.

Meanwhile, the letters are becoming enormous.

At some point, your original request has been enlarged to such magnificent proportions that it could probably be read from the parking lot.

You are no longer merely communicating. You are checking the prescription.

Can you see it now?

He can.

And this is where the eye exam develops one tiny inconvenience.

Sir can see the letters perfectly well.

What he chooses to do with them is another matter entirely.

He might dislike the request. He might prefer things exactly as they are. He might fully intend to change and then wander cheerfully back to his usual ways three days later. But eyesight is beginning to look rather innocent in all this.

Still, one more version is terribly tempting.

Maybe this one.

This one is excellent.

Short, warm, clear, no unnecessary flourishes. Honestly, if sentences entered beauty contests, we might have a finalist.

Sir Can Read

By now, though, it helps to pull back and admire what has happened.

You are sitting in the examination chair with one eye covered, flipping between versions of exactly the same request while Sir stands several feet away looking at letters large enough to alarm a passing pedestrian.

Better one? Better two?

Softer one?

Clearer two?

Would Sir prefer the version with feelings removed?

Maybe we should enlarge the font.

Again.

The first sentence was not especially complicated, and neither was the second. By the fifth, the alphabet has done everything reasonably expected of it.

The words have been softened, shortened, stretched out again, tidied up and turned this way and that until surely one version ought to charm the man into action.

The need itself, meanwhile, has remained almost sweetly unchanged.

You wanted more consistency.

That was it.

No secret code. No hidden line at the bottom of the chart. No stronger lenses required.

Pull back a little farther and the whole thing becomes rather wonderful: all this beautiful work on a sentence Sir probably understood somewhere around version one.

You could certainly produce version seven.

It would probably be lovely.

But by now, the letters are enormous.

Madam. Sir can read.