I can be a little OCD about washing dishes,” my husband commented, as he rinsed a cup under the hot water.
I glanced sideways at the man I had seen every single day for [10] years straight. If he would have looked at my face at that moment, he would have seen my smirking smile of surprise.
“Like this cup, for instance,” he continued. “I can’t stand that!”
He tilted a wet cup up onto the dish drain, where previously it had sat flat on the counter.
“See,” he said with a satisfied tone. “Now it will get air inside.”
Astounding. Who was this man? We stood side by side, washing dishes together to make the task easier before heading to the pool. He never ceased to amaze me. The guy who used to leave cereal bowls with sugary milk abandoned on the counter like clockwork suddenly had an opinion about the dish drain.
Just the day before he had said something else that caught me off guard. The thing was, while my husband and I had a lot in common, we also had some major differences. A huge one that had always been difficult for me, and sometimes a point of frustration, was his ability to remain cool, calm, and collected under stress. I’m sure you’re thinking that sounds like a wonderful attribute, and yes, it does. I wish I was that way. And that’s where the problem lay. In situations where I wanted to lose my mind, he was chill. I mean, a lot of times his lax attitude offered me an anchor of stability on tumultuous seas, but other times I had wondered if he had a pulse. Like, didn’t anything bother him?! I wanted stuff to bother him sometimes so I didn’t feel so crazy and out of control. But nope, he typically remained steady and worry-free. It kinda made me jealous. Kinda made me want to strangle him.
