Before I met my husband (and for many years thereafter), I was a city girl. I was born in they city. I grew up in several cities (serial city-monogamy, if you will) since we moved quite a bit in my formative years. As such, I grew up hearing mostly city noises: cars honking, people yelling at each other at all hours, sirens blaring from emergency vehicles…yep, those emergency medical workers, those were my peeps. When I got older, I went to college in the city, as was proper. I stayed with what was familiar, with what I knew.
It was my comfort zone and I was sticking to it.
My husband grew up in one city, but because it was on the border of a town, it was more bucolic in setting than the cities that I inhabited in my youth and young adulthood. As such, my husband grew up hearing more countrified-type noises: birdsong, crickets, frogs croaking and the like.
I was used to my outdoor noises. He was used to his, much like I used to listen to disco music and he liked alternative rock…we made peace with it, in a never-the-twain-shall-meet sort of way.
One (very early) morning not long after we married, I was driven to put the pillow over my head to cover my ears. No, my husband wasn’t snoring. It was those damn birds! Chirping their stupid heads off! Waking me up at dawn when I (inherently a night person at that time in my life) had barely been asleep for 4 hours!
Him: “Why is the pillow over your head?”
Me: “Because those stupid birds are chirping so loudly that they woke me up and I can’t get back to sleep!”
Years later (read: yesterday) he told me that he seriously wondered if he had chosen the right life partner (and further wondered if I was deranged) because I’d made that statement.
Good thing I hadn’t told him about how I was envisioning shooting each one of them in their little heads after each chirp.