A Helping Hand
Their contributions to blogging are never-ending.
Just yesterday, I wrote so sincerely about the sweet decency of the man. (“My Husband Secures His Spot In Heaven”) Yes, he is heaven-bound. He is a saint.
An annoying saint.
Yesterday, I also said I would be back to laughing at his eccentricities today. And I figured that I would pull up one of my old posts – and there were so many to choose from. (“Let Me Hint Louder” “Cutting The Cheese” “I Solve Life’s Neurological Mystery” – I can go on and on.)
But I don’t have to re-blog an old post.
He’s even quicker than I thought he would be.
Because last night I made a very nice anniversary dinner – well, okay, I warmed up very nice Thanksgiving leftovers. I had turkey and stuffing in gravy, and some butternut squash and cornbread pudding. And he loved it. He was very appreciative.
Now he doesn’t exactly say, “Can I help with the dishes?” No – he always phrases it, “You don’t need me to dry anything, do you?”
And I said, “No, I’m okay – I just have the skillet, and everything else can go in the dishwasher.” But then I turned around and saw that I had the big heavy casserole dish from the squash. It wouldn’t fit on the drainboard, with the skillet there. So I hollered (in a very sweet way) to Hubby in the den, “I can use your help after all – to dry the casserole dish.”
“No problem,” he said.
And he ran to the kitchen (well, he almost ran), and he grabbed a clean dishtowel and took care of that heavy slippery dish for me.