He carries my heart as nonchalantly as the loose change in his pocket. He calls me sweetie at random moments and remembers my need for a daily hug. My husband sends ripples into my days with the millions of things he does–usually things I’d rather not do.

He cleaned out the Thanksgiving leftovers from the fridge. I would’ve let them mold for a month. He even ate the last two rubbery puddings-in-a-cloud.

He rakes the leaves as they fall from the trees.

He catches muskrats and raccoons and then drives them to the river to let them go.

He took a shot (and missed) with the BB gun at a deer who was six inches from our house, looking in the window as she ate our bushes.

He schmoozed all the ladies at the first of five Christmas parties I will make him endure.

He did not swerve when we left party number one in the dark, even when the bunny ran in front of us, and justified this logically–he didn’t want the cop ahead of us to think he was drunk–though he’d only had punch at the party. Poor bunny.

He suggested I color the white lights on the Christmas tree with Sharpies. I might get some credit (and giggles) for doing it, but it wasn’t my idea.

He fixed my weird tail light which went out whenever I stepped on the brake. Inadvertently, this fix also resolved the short which made my cruise control go off when I drove with my lights on. This was huge (pronounced ‘uge by him). When the cruise control went on the blink, and only worked during the day, I decided to sell the damn car. Now it works again. Maybe I’ll keep the lovely car. See the impact of a teeny light bulb in the capable hands of the husband?


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