Let Inga Tell You: Learning the languages of love

A book came out some time ago about the five “love languages” that people have in relationships and the problems couples get into when they don’t speak the same ones.

The five languages are: words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service and physical touch.

For example, some people feel most adored by being lavished with gifts, while others feel most loved when hearing positive words (affirmations) from a spouse. Honestly, it would seem like having some of all five in a relationship would be a good thing, though frankly, neither my husband nor I care about gifts.

Olof and I are mostly in sync on the love languages, except for the ones that neither of us speaks at all. Now that we’re retired, we get to spend lots of quality time together, a huge improvement from all those 80-hour weeks Olof worked when he would literally fall asleep at the dinner table. It’s very hard to have a conversation with someone face down in their linguine.

And while he isn’t big on getting massages, he gives the greatest back rub ever.

I’m very good at giving words of affirmation. However, I don’t get as many back as I might like. Is this a guy thing? An engineer thing? Olof’s view of communication is that couples should be able to talk to each other about anything. So long, he adds, as you never actually do it.

He will never offer an opinion about anything personal unless asked. Nay, begged. No, implored. Actions, he maintains, speak louder than words.

OK, but as I’ve pointed out to him on more than a few occasions, sometimes words would come in really handy.

For me, the acts of service are really high on my list. One such example: Olof has taken over cleaning our outdoor aviary, a job I had for two decades but am physically unable to do anymore. And it’s not the type of job you can hire out. The aviary cage is built into our back porch and requires a lot of shoveling bird poop and seed hulls, then laying down fresh newspaper, which will be coated with more bird poop and more seed pretty much instantly.

After he retired, Olof graciously also took over cleaning the dishes, though I think it might have been more self-defense than an act of love. I’m not the worst housekeeper in the world, although it has been suggested I’m a contender. (Was he a single working carpooling Cub Scout-leading parent for 12 years??? I think not.)

As happy as I am not to be doing dishes after all these years, he runs the dishwasher practically empty. It makes me nuts.

“Inga,” I have to say to myself. “Step away from the dishwasher!  The man is doing the dishes. If he wants to run it with two friggin’ forks, let him!”

So I’d like to amend the “acts of service” love language to say “providing acts of service as the previous service provider would have done them.” Is this too much to ask?

There is no question Olof and I have very different styles of doing things. My biggest love language is action.  If I see something that needs attention, or is pointed out to me by my husband, I’m on it. No time like the present!

It is definitely not Olof’s idea of a love language, however. Olof has a different word for this love language: “nagging.” If I point out something to him that he needs to take care of that I can’t do myself, it goes on a list where it generally languishes until it dies of old age (or I hire a handyman to do it).

Olof is clear that he hates being nagged worse than just about anything.

I have tried to explain over the years that there is an amazingly simple solution to nagging: Just do what you were asked to do! Maybe even this week! You’re retired! You have time!

I confess I’ve had malevolent moments when he’s asked me to make copies of financial documents for him (the printer-copier is on my desk) and I’m tempted to let them languish instead of making the copies right away. If he should ask, my fantasy is to smile brightly and announce, “It’s on my list!”

But if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, escalation of hostilities is never a good approach to problem resolution.

I guess the ultimate love language might be accepting the person you’re married to with all their quirks, including running an empty dishwasher that wastes a ton of water and reduces the life of the machine by a decade.

But every week, when I see him out there mucking out the bird cage, I feel loved. Really, really loved.

Inga’s lighthearted looks at life appear regularly in the La Jolla Light. Reach her at inga47@san.rr.com. ♦

Originally Published: July 22, 2024 at 8:00 a.m.