By Jodi Rae Ingstad 

A girl with sensitivities like mine cannot take the slightest bit of criticism without falling apart. Luckily I married a man who is not a name caller.  Imagine my disdain when out of the blue he harshly announced that I am an “enigma.”
The word enigma sounded a lot like the word amoeba so I countered with, “Yuk!  I hope they have antibiotics for that!”
Before my ranting would begin I’d needed to arm myself with a precise definition of the word enigma.  I went to the place I find the greatest peace next to the words in the Bible – the dictionary.
One definition says that the word enigma means, “Something that baffles all understanding.”  Another says, “One that is puzzling.”
I sat and pondered the definitions for a spell.  I’ve lived with myself for a good 41 years now and I understand myself completely. Therefore, I deduce, the definition terming me ‘something that baffles all understanding’ is completely null and void. I understand myself perfectly and that is all that really matters.” I’m so tempted to stick my tongue out and yell, “So there!” but that would surely get me called immature instead of an enigma.
The second definition of the abrasive word he called me might just fit.  Not only does it fit but I take pride in the definition, “one that is puzzling.” I’d like to think that keeping things puzzling is also keeping things interesting.   
The words of one of my old high school teachers suddenly came back to me. Mr. Weiss used to make us repeat and re-repeat the words, “Let the punishment fit the crime, let the punishment fit the crime!”
Husband’s crime was that he dared to call me an abrasive word that I didn’t know the definition of until I looked it up myself. Now that I knew the definition I was going to make his punishment fit his crime.  For the rest of the day I became the polar opposite of puzzling.  I invented a new definition for myself, “one that is disconnected, un-fun, un-dramatic, bland, disengaged and pitiful.” Surely that would teach him a lesson.
The day dragged on and on. It’s not easy for a puzzling girl like me to become everything she’s not.  I felt like I was punishing myself for him calling me an “enigma.”
Since I wasn’t talking or being my playful self, neither was he.  If I have stamina with my stubbornness than what he has is clearly defined as super-stamina.  He was totally un-moved by my mission of blah-ness. Now nearly bedtime and not getting any response to my suffering I just had to explode. “You called me an enigma and I looked it up in the dictionary. If you don’t like me being one that puzzles you than for the rest of my life I’m just going to be blah!”
“See, you’re an enigma,” he calmly cooed.
I asked him what event set him off to call me that scathing word in the first place.
“You said that you feel sad for the deer this time of year.”  He was right. I did say that indeed.
“But your friend just gave you a vintage fur coat that you love. You’re an enigma.”
Always ready to debate I countered with, “No, that would make me a hypocrite not an enigma.”
The fur has been dead since 1940 and I had no hand in killing it.  I told him that just like I was sensitive to the word enigma I too am sensitive to the cold and to the dire needs of the animal shelters.
 “So you’re an enigmatic hypocrite then.”
I reminded him that he says he doesn’t eat meat yet all the hotdogs are gone. I was going to continue but then I remembered that vengeance belongs to the Lord.  Besides, Husband is too baffling for me to begin to understand and I love him despite it.