When the Competition is Your Husband, Comedic Chaos Ensues

The column idea hit me two weeks ago, as I splayed across the lawn at , my sizable Patch banner unfurled as an extension to the blanket. 

I had run back to the car for more sunscreen. I needed to ditch my enormous floppy hat, which precluded peripheral vision and possibly meeting new people. It was the second to last performance of the summer, and lots of La Cañadans still haven’t heard of Patch.  

But when I returned to our picnic area, my husband, Dan, had done something so unbelievably tacky that I couldn’t help but scream: he’d placed stacks of the competing La Cañada Valley Sun and Pasadena Sun on top of my banner. Holding them down? Los Angeles Times mugs.

This was not ok.

Dan is the editor of the Sun papers, as well as the Glendale News Press and Burbank Leader. Hey, talk about the Jewel and Media cities all you want in La Cañada – but back off the 91011, man.

You may read my husband's column (about my idea) here. 

When folks find out Dan and I are competitors, we either receive a quizzical look, or are outright asked, “How are the dinner conversations at your house?’’

Friday Night’s Fright

“I gotta write my column tomorrow. It’s due at 1 p.m.’’

“Oh, yeah? Whatcha writing about?’’

Dan’s pause, to anyone else, would’ve been imperceptible. But I’ve been married to him for four years, together for seven and I knew he was seconds from saying something that would make me seethe.

“I’m writing about us being competitors.’’

It felt like my blood reversed course.

“You mean my column?’’

“You haven’t written it,’’ he said, a trace of indignation in his voice.

“It was my idea, Dan! I told you about it at the music festival!’’

“But you haven’t written it, and anyway, it’s partially about me – does that not give me some ownership?’’

I continued objecting, pointing out how I also haven’t written the school board story from three weeks ago or the election story or any number of other highlighted to-dos that haunt me every day as I slog through the must-dos, leaving a stack of the still-can’t-get-tos.

But Dan had a 1 p.m. Saturday deadline, so now I would have a 1 p.m. Saturday deadline and the pancakes and the teeth brushing would wait.

Is this healthy? I don’t know. He doesn’t snoop around my sticky notes or peruse my desk mess, and I afford the same respect. It seems to work for us. What doesn’t work is when I meet someone at an event and am talking about LCF Patch, and then along walks Dan, who reaches for his business card and, purposefully or not, hijacks the conversation.

The Race to Write the Column

Come Saturday morning, Dan ambled to the coffee pot and I to the newspaper, which I plucked from the sprinkler puddle. He writes quicker than I do, obsessing less about each nuance than me. So I already felt behind.

And then I remembered Gracie’s prescription.

Our cross-eyed cat, Gracie, suffers from asthma. A flare-up Friday meant I needed to fetch her medicine Saturday before noon. Depending on traffic, this could chew 40 minutes off my deadline.

How do I get lost in the city I’ve lived in since 1999? My heart’s beating double time because I don’t know how I’m going to begin the damn thing and now he’s got nearly an hour on me.

Once home, mental clock ticking, I buzzed past the coffee, opted against a bathroom break, but really did need Dan’s help to administer medicine to our squirmy cat. With every second apparently counting, I felt bad for luring him away from his computer.

“I’m really not sabotaging you,’’ I said, trying to assure myself as much as him.

“Oh, I haven’t started writing. I waited for you.’’