Somedays, when there are no bats in the magnolia or the belfry, and when anything I might write might bring on yawns great enough to cause jaw misalignment, I whine for Dearly Beloved to step in and be that day’s “guest blogger.”
Not that he would consider sitting down at the old Merrily desk. No way. He does, however, have a cache of short pieces that he’s written on various subjects that I think he might let me use if I happened to break both hands or refused to come out from under the bed covers.
Once he even ASKED for equal time to defend himself against my recollection of his fight with Big Bubba at the church softball game. He had already written his version long before–to save in case the grandsons want to tell their grandkids about Granddad someday.
Yesterday was one of those days when the most interesting thing to talk about was the pulsating sewer blob up in Raleigh (no, not the legislature.) I was getting the house ready for the visit from the kids and the kidlets and couldn’t sit still long enough to concentrate, so when he asked had I written anything, I said no in my “I’ll never have a coherent thought again” voice. He smiled and said encouragingly, “Maybe tomorrow.”
This morning I was surprised when he shook me awake quite early, telling me, “I’ve got a blog for you.”
Surprised for two reasons: (1) he had a blog for me? (2) he WOKE me to tell me that? WOKE me?? This isn’t the New York times, folks. I’m not exactly on deadline. Or payroll. Blogging helps keep me out of the fridge.
I rolled out of bed anyway and headed for the kitchen, only to get clobbered with a cloud of acrid smoke as soon as I rounded the corner into the living room.
“Holy crap! What IS that?”
“It’s your BLOG,” he answered, going ahead of me into the kitchen.
Yesterday when I accidentally fused the tea kettle to the cooktop burner, DB had awakened to what he thought was the smell of a hair dryer but was actually fried tea kettle. This was way worse than that smell. Then I remembered…maybe it was stewed Drano.
Our washer had started to clog–again–earlier this week. (See what I mean about sewer excitement?) When we hear glugging in the kitchen sink while the washer is draining, we know that an overflowing toilet is going to be Act II, usually within days. With company coming, the last thing we need is to have the toilets clogging. One of the city workers who’d come to check and make sure the sewer line wasn’t the problem suggested that DB pour Drano down the washer drain (not the washer!) and also down the sink drain, since the clog was apparently between those two points. (Probably the mates to the four unmatched socks atop the dryer. ) The guy had suggested that DB do it before bedtime, then follow up with boiling water this morning and he had followed those instructions. I thought perhaps that was the smell–boiled Drano.
My husband does not know his way around a kitchen and does not want a map. Curiosity would require opening a cabinet door. When the kettle wasn’t on the stove to boil water this morning, he decided to use the urn on the coffeemaker instead. He set the hard plastic thermal urn that keeps coffee hot for hours directly on the hot new burner and went back to the guest room to make the bed. (He said he had fled there at 3am because of my…um…alleged snoring.)
He returned to flames on the cooktop and a gooey coffee urn in the process of melting. Good thing he’d gone back just to make the bed–a flop-the- covers-up move. A shower would have set the whole house on fire.
I showed him magic items like large Pyrex bowls with spouts for boiling water in the microwave and a Dutch oven which could have been used on the stove were it not for the black plastic blobs splattered all over the cooktop. He finished flushing out the Drano and, we hope, the clog.
He explained the entire episode to me this way:
Greater love has no man than to make a jackass move for his wife’s blog.
When the kids come and ask, “What’s that smell?” I’ll tell them:
That’s great love.