I have the sweetest, most patient, steady husband in the world. Anybody who’s known T for five minutes knows he’s a kind, easy-to-talk-to guy. Anybody who’s known him for ten minutes knows he thinks Ron Burgandy is the definition of hilarious. Twenty minutes, and you know he’d gladly give you the shirt off his back if you need it.
He’s a keeper. But I wasn’t always convinced.
We had a rocky start. We met in college, at the first rehearsal for an auditioned choir. I was a freshman. He was a senior. I recognized him, because he’d actually come to my high school to sing with a traveling group the previous year. I thought he was cute. And he was a baritone. Who doesn’t love a deep, rumbling voice?
Our first conversation went something like this:
Him: Hi, I’m Thomas, President of Chorale.
Me: Hi, I’m-
Him: Turns away to talk to some pretty brunette with too much eye makeup and perfume that makes me want to gag.
It was at that moment that it became my life’s mission to mildly irritate him.
Somewhere between that first meeting (which he SWEARS he doesn’t remember) and the end of that school year, he’d decided he wanted to marry me. Somehow, between the end of that school year and the start of the next semester, he’d managed to get me on board with his cockamamie plan of permanent monogamy. No small feat; I’m a giant commitment-phobe.
Now, over twelve years later, he’s still my favorite and my best. We’ve had highs and lows, just like everybody else, but I can honestly say, through it all:
I love him. (Feel free to enter a sweet sigh of your own here. I just did.)
Here’s the thing, though: that love hasn’t changed my life’s mission. I’m still out to mildly irritate him. Examples:
*I have a giant wad of unnecessary things on my key ring. T lives in perpetual fear that my starter-majiggy-thing will be jacked up by the extra weight. We have an ongoing war. I leave my keys in the ignition; he takes them out and puts the significantly lighter, single spare in. It’s an ugly war, and I’m not sure who’s going to win.
*Sometimes I’ll buy single ply toilet paper for his bathroom. Just for funsies.
*I don’t wear socks. My feet get cold. I complain about my cold feet. He says, “Wear socks,” in this voice that I know means, You’re trying to mildly irritate me and it’s WORKING.
*I’ll press my über-cold, sock-less feet against him in bed to warm them up. “Wear socks,” he repeats, a little louder this time.
*I pretend to be inept when it comes to my iPhone. “Honey, can you update my phone?” “Hey, T, how do you make the camera zoom in?” He’s fully aware I’m pretending. But, sweet guy that he is, he helps me anyway.
*I organize the icons on my iPhone according to color. This drives him totally crazy when he’s trying to help me use the thing.
*I’ll leave Nickel Creek’s Lighthouse Tale blaring in my car when I know he’ll be the next to drive it. Chris Thile’s sweet tenor voice grates the hubster’s nerves like no other.
Clearly, I’m an evil genius. And I’m addicted to this game because I still get giddy when he cocks an eyebrow at me, telling me I’m towing the line of his patience. Besides, I know deep down, he thinks my hijinks are super-adorable. Right, T? Right?
Now it’s your turn to ‘fess up, dearest readers! Surely I’m not the only one out there who enjoys pestering their loved ones. I want to hear your stories (and maybe get some fresh ideas in the process!)