One of my friends was talking about her husband recently. “You know, the things that I used to think were cutest about him when we were dating are the things that bug me the most now.”
She’s kidding, of course, even when she says, “Sometimes I think we are all married to the same man.”
Yesterday I sat at the sewing machine–a very strange place to find me– when the phone rang. I stopped in mid-seam, turned off the machine, then jumped up and answered the phone.
“Hello?” The Caller ID told me who it was.
“Ummm… what time are we eating?”
Two questions that really irk me are, “What’s for dinner?” and “When are we eating?” Perhaps I shouldn’t find them unreasonable and let them irritate me, but they are and I do.
“What time do you want to eat?”
“….uh, I don’t think I’m handling this right….”
He was hoping we might eat early. We could.
I punched END on the phone, opened the French doors, and looked out on the screened porch where Dearly Beloved sat in the swing about eight feet from me, a book in his hand and phone at his ear, saying, “Are you still there?”
Giving him an iPhone was a very bad idea.
One day when he was out on his daily walk, he texted something that annoyed me. I wrote back: You are a jackass.
That turned out to be a mistake on my part. He was delighted. He told me later that he stopped mid-step and laughed so loudly it attracted stares from passersby. Now, whenever I ask him to do something around the house, he says, “That sounds like a job for the jackass. I’ll ask him to do it.”
You see the problem? It may be an A+ job, or it may be completely half-assed. How can I complain? After all, the jackass did it.
Yes, I am talking about DB, the same man who brakes for kids’ lemonade stands and no, I don’t for a minute believe that we are all married to the same man.
I can pick my guy out of any group.
**Photo used with kind permission of Bret Douglas. Thanks, Bret!