“I never get mad at you” my husband said to me. It’s a safe bet that I told him he never has a reason to get mad at me. Not because I’m so well-behaved but because I am tremendously independent and self-sufficient. I try very hard not to inconvenience others.
As I’ve said before, I love my husband more than air, wouldn’t trade him for anyone in the world. He’s fascinating and funny and he loves me with all his heart. He knows me pretty well too but not well enough to recognize the end of my rope as it’s being wrapped noose-like around his neck.
Since he believes there isn’t anything I can’t do, there is nothing he will not ask me to do. From the most basic request, could he have a glass of water (I know for a fact that he waits for me to get up so he won’t have to), to the most ludicrous demand imaginable, “Cover yourself in this mail armor Woman, and fight the barbarians to the death so that I might remain unscathed.” He would test the patience of a saint.
Yet, he is innocently bruised when I speak plainly (that sounds so much nicer than quoting what it is I actually say) describing my discontent. I know he knows exactly what it is he’s done but it doesn’t stop him from doing it. How is it he so deludes himself, expecting different results from the same actions?
How is it that on a day when he is really pushing the envelope, I see a glittery valentine with two hearts and I buy it for him because, truly, what would life be without him?