“If I could loan you my eyes, you would see how perfect he is.” My grandma declared this any time someone would dare insult my grandpa. She adored him, and he her. They had a true love affair.
I believe everyone should know such intense love—a feeling so strong, a bond so tight, a connection so deep that certain flaws get overlooked, because no one is perfect. Take my husband for example.
While he can always find the TV remote (even if it’s hidden in the couch cushions), he absolutely can not find any easily locatable household object ever.
“Where’s the flashlight?” he’ll ask.
“In the utility drawer.”
“No, it’s not. I checked.”
So I have to press pause on Netflix, put down my drink, get up from my chair, walk over to the utility drawer, and pull the flashlight out for him. “Yes, it is.”
“Oh. I didn’t see it.”
Replay that same scene a dozen times a day with dish towels, notepads, pens, paper towel rolls, and spatulas.
My husband believes in fairies. You know, the Soap fairy who refills all of the hand soap dispensers? She lives in our house apparently, along with the Toilet Paper fairy who jumps at the chance to replace every empty roll. Why would my husband do that when she loves it so much? There are Lightbulb-Replacing, Bed-Making, and Vacuuming fairies too. If he doesn’t see these things happen, it must be a fairy.
Here are some of other flaws I overlook on a regular basis:
- Our bed is a battlefield, but not in a good way. I think my husband must dream of being a ninja because he throws his arms across the bed and accidentally whacks me on a fairly regular basis. Sorry, sweetie, you’ll never be the Karate Kid. I build a wall of pillows and sleep as far away from him as possible because he also has restless leg syndrome. Despite my best efforts, I often wake up in the middle of the night terrified that we’re experiencing an earthquake—only to discover it’s his leg repeatedly kicking the mattress.
- Dishes—why is it so impossible to put them in the sink? Or better yet, into the dishwasher? He leaves coffee cups all over the house, empty snack containers by the couch and the computer, and dirty dishes all over the counter. Apparently he can’t take two more steps to put an item in the sink, or maybe it’s just a magical force field protecting the empty sink from dirty dishes. Oh wait, I’m talking about myself. I do this. Nevermind.
- While he was a star basketball player in high school, he can’t seem to score any points getting socks and underwear into the hamper. Clothing litters the carpet around the hamper, the bathroom floor, the floor by the dresser. I’ve considered installing a scoreboard on the hamper to reward desirable behavior.
- My husband once ruined my favorite sweater by washing it with a new pair of jeans. The blue dye looked like tears on the light fabric as he conveniently declared, “I can never do laundry again.” And he doesn’t ever. Fortunately, he never complains when I have to rewash loads I’ve left in the washer too long or when he needs to get dressed in the laundry room.
- He farts. I’m not talking a minor emission here and there. He ejects gas with such force that it vibrates the furniture and registers on the Richter scale. Our children have learned never to stand behind him because the sheer force of the wind can knock them over. Now I firmly believe that a person should be comfortable in his or her own home, but for criminy sakes, his farts are so thunderous they scare the dog. There should be a new name for what he does. Fartlosion? Atomic Stink Bomb? Colon Quake?
- Speaking of deafening noises, can we discuss the snoring? That human chainsaw is so disruptive my son asked to change bedrooms because it wakes him up at night (he’s already at the other end of the hallway). I have no sympathy for him though, because I have to sleep with the roaring grizzly bear. I buy earplugs in bulk. Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t been fined for breaking the neighborhood noise ordinance. On the other hand, I don’t need to pay for a vibrating bed because I’ve already got one.
Of course, I’m certain I’m not the easiest person to live with either, but the last time I asked him what I could change about myself, he brought me a cup of coffee (that he brewed) and replied without hesitation, “Nothing. You have no quirks.”
So I guess he really is perfect—perfect for me.
© 2016 Kathryn Leehane, as first published on Scary Mommy.
Photo Credit: nomadsoul1 / 123RF Stock Photo You didn’t think that was really my husband, right?