Every once in a GREAT GREAT while, my fabulously wonderful husband, Sky King, makes a blunder.
Now, when you're great, you're great. Women wax poetic about how perfect he is: the chickies at the gym, the ladies I work with, his relatives. Hell, if things ever fall apart between us, I'm not too confident my family will have my back.
But when he screws up, he goes at it with the same fervor as when he is doing wonderful things. He really APPLIES HIMSELF.
The other day, we were having a chat about how wonderfully strange our children are. Each of us had numerous stunning examples. For your own point of reference, read here and here and here. Don't forget about here, too.
At some point, things went sour. SK said, and I quote:
"I should have listened to your mother."
Now, he backpedaled, but the damage was done. I looked at him, with murder in my eyes, mouth agape, hands at hips. I wanted to say, "What? You HATE sex with me? Good, that works out for both of us." I contemplated saying, "I will give you a 10-second head start before I chase you with this butcher knife".
What I DID say was:
"In what way could you save this conversation so that I don't suffocate you tonight while you sleep?"
He went on to say that my mother had warned him that I was a rotten child (SO not true) and that the resulting offspring of our union would be akin to devil spawn, and that she thought it was important that she was straight with him.
So with that, I decided that, instead of doing 25-to-life for murder (no matter how justified it would have been), I would pen an open letter to the husbands of the world.
Dear misguided husbands:
No matter how many dinners you cook, cars you schlep through the car wash, bags of groceries you bring in and road trips you endure, it is never, ever, ever okay to start any conversation with, "I should have listened to your mother".
...no matter how true it is.
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