For our 11th anniversary, Husband and I went out for a lovely meal at Bondir, Jason Bond's farmhouse-chic restaurant in Inman Square, Cambridge. By mid-meal, Husband and I were engaged in a semi-heated discussion about the definition of stubbornness. Husband likes to call me stubborn and I like to take it as a compliment.
Him: Stubbornness is not a compliment. It has a negative connotation.
Me: Yes, but in certain circumstances it can serve you well. Like if you're working against the odds to get something done. If you don't possess a certain amount of stubbornness, you give up long before it takes to succeed.
Him: No, that's persistence. That's different.
Me: They both come from the exact same place.
Him: Persistence is a positive trait and stubbornness is bad.
Me: You can't have one without the other.
Him: They're two different sides of a coin.
Me: Then we agree. Two sides of the same coin.
Him: You are so stubborn.
Me: Thank you!
Him: It's not a compliment! Do you remember your donkey at the Grand Canyon?
Me: Of course I remember that fucking donkey. Trinity was his name. He kept stopping to munch on the desert grass on the edge of the steep switchbacks, then he'd get way behind and have to sprint to catch up. Donkeys can't sprint. He nearly heaved me into the canyon a dozen times.
Him: See? That's stubbornness. Not persistence.
Me: I'm sure that donkey has triumphed over adversity many a time and now he's retired in Mexico.
Him: Do you see how stubborn you are? I'm going to see if the chef has a dictionary.
Me: Oooooo, a dictionary! I'm sooooo scared!
Him: You refuse to acknowledge I'm right.
Me: But we agree. Stubbornness can be good if you trace it back to its root.
Him: We don't agree!
Do you see any irony here? Any irony at all?