Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Nick's wedding gift from me. I letterpressed this by hand!

Trying to be a good wife is not dissimilar to trying to be a good girlfriend, as it turns out, and I'm not sure I've been a standout at either lately.

For example, this morning I probably should have gotten up early and made Nick a cute breakfast. Or planned in advance to go in late to work so that we could go to the Dube (a diner and Nick's personal Shangri-La).

You see, he had an interview this afternoon for a position he would so very much like to get. (He's had several of these since we've been back, actually. Good job, dude.) And it wasn't until I was already at work that I recalled my very first day at my current job. Nick was going to drive me and I perceived him to be running late getting up and out the door. Really, we were not running late, we were merely not super-early, but I was nervous. Sadly, anxiety turns me into a savagely hypercritical monster of the deep. I grabbed my messenger bag and clicked out the door in my office-appropriate heels and announced with a labored sigh that I would wait for him in the car, a favored bitchy pasttime of mine.

There on the passenger seat lay a bouquet of daisies. Beside the flowers, two egg and cheese biscuits from McDonald's (a deeply gross yet delicious private shame of ours) wrapped up like greasy Christmas in yellow paper. Of course. My bad behavior is almost always met with swift justice like this. This was an especially darling gesture in that while Nick is a build you a bike guy, and a make you a Snuggie despite not knowing how to sew guy, he has never bothered much with cut flowers. Over the past six years, I can count the bouquets on one hand.

Unfortunately, our morning was a little less sweet. I remained in bed long after my alarm's death knell, in futile one-woman protest of feet on cold floors and clothes with metal closures. The cat tried to trod on my face and I chucked her into a pile of laundry. (Sickly, I love the sound of a meow that hits laundry. MEOWmph.) My husband gently pulled the covers off of me, and I cried out as if scalded.

"Evie," he said, patiently, "do you know how late it is?"
"YES."
"Really. What time is it then."
"8:12" (A guess, but my phone had very recently said 8:10)
"Whoa, yeah. On the nose. How did you know?"
"CAUSE I'M A WIZARD, BITCH."


At this point I chucked my pillow at him and ran for the bathroom. Fortunately for him, I was out the door in minutes and he had a few hours in the quiet apartment to find focus and calm for the interview.

I appreciate the hell out of him. Even if I forget to act like it sometimes. He is just so effortlessly nice to me.

4 comments:

  1. Yes! The effortlessly nice makes you feel like such a bitch! I'm a bitch too and my husband is always sweet and kind to me. Damn him.

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  2. GAH. I was thinking about that recently, about how he is so easily nice to me and I always feel like a jerkface. GRUMBLE.

    Your wedding gift is phenom. I didn't give him anything except my troth. :)

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  3. Jo - yeah, it became a wedding gift because I had the idea and needed an occasion for it. He didn't give me a wedding gift, except you know, agreeing to marry me, etc.

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