Perfect?? Well...kinda

The song is by Alanis Morisette. I thought it fitting.





Matt called me at work today to tell me that it’s going to snow on Wednesday, about two feet or so is what’s expected. For us out here in the boonies that means 3 or more feet. He called me to tell me to cancel all my appointments so I wouldn’t have to go out that day. I did. While I was hanging up with him a woman I know, and friends with Kathy came in. I said goodbye to Matt, told him I loved him and she rolled her eyes. I gave her a questioning look. “Yeah I know, your perfect husband.” And she rolled her eyes again. I laughed and shrugged. I wasn’t going to bother commenting on that. She’s miserable; it’s not my problem or issue. Kathy the woman I work with cut in and led the conversation from there to something else. I had no plans on commenting, she can be a grouch if she wishes, and if she’s miserable it’s not my problem. She can think as she wishes about me or Matt because really her perspective doesn’t mean that much to me. After she left though Kathy said something to me, “Don’t let it bug ya Anj.” I laughed and assured her that the opinion of that woman bothered me none. “You guys have been together a long time, and not many people are as lucky as you are.” I nodded. It’s true.

I did tell her that Matt isn’t perfect. She smiled. “I know. No one is Anj.” I grinned. She’s right, no one is. Matt does have his faults. He is lazy, to a fault. He despises any kind of housework, or yard work. Sometimes if I need a hand with dishes or moving furniture I’ll ask him. I don’t usually bother since he hates it, but about every four or five months or so for some reason or another I’ll need a bit of help. He does pitch in, though he does a terrible job at cleaning the kitchen, so I usually leave my requests to small and detailed things like unloading and reloading the dishwasher. Once some time ago I had asked him to put the comforter in the dryer for me since I had to go out, but we would need it that night for sleeping. He said he would. I called him to remind him about an hour later and he went and put it in the dryer. When I returned home I opened the dryer to get it out so I could make the bed only to find it was still soaking wet. Having never used the dryer, he didn’t realize he had put it on fluff dry. Now I found this hysterical. Someone else might have gotten mad, but getting mad wouldn’t dry the comforter, and I kind of found it amusing that after all these years he really had no reason to know the difference either, so what was to get upset about? I hate to nag; it bothers me more to actually nag then it would I think to hear it. If I need him to do something I’ll ask him, once. I don’t bother to ask again for a week. If it’s still not done in a week I’ll attempt again to do it myself. If I still can’t accomplish it on my own, then I’ll tell him that I need his help with it and we’ll do it together.

I hate taking out the trash. It’s gross and smelly. Every Tuesday night I gather up all the trash from all the little trash bins about the house and collect them into a bag, and put all the stuff downstairs by the garage door so he can put it easily into his car and drive it down to the trash bin to be picked up. Often times he walks right by them, and doesn’t even notice they are there. I end up doing that before work. I do call him each time to give him the “Ohh hey guess what I did this morning??” call. I laugh as I remind him that our garage door does not spawn those by itself. I actually put those there. He has his reasons, running late or just too tired to see them. In either case it got done, so what’s to complain about?

He’s also really bad about putting gas into my Jeep when he uses it. Usually the little gas light comes on 2 minutes after I pull out of the driveway and dings all the way to the gas station. I call him on that too, and tell him something to the effect of, “Hey you hear the new thing?” to which he asks what new thing of course. “There’s this stuff called gasoline, and ya need that to run a vehicle. Crazy huh? Otherwise it won’t go ya see.” At which point I burst into laughter and he sheepishly apologizes. He only takes the Jeep when it’s snowy out and I don’t have to work. Of course on days like this no one wants to stop to get gas. I have told him though that if I run out of gas he’s coming to get me, since we live in the middle of nowhere and some bear is going to come and steal me if I walk the 15 miles to where I can actually get gas.

So he’s not perfect, he’s lazy and messy and would rather walk over the paper plate he ate his sandwich off of that he let the dogs lick the crumbs from than pick it up. I still love him though. The paper plates don’t bother me, they pick up rather easily and with little effort. He snow-blows the driveway which I can’t do, and he builds me the most stable amazing shelves in the summertime when I ask him for the garage. He’s not the motivated one, that’s my job. He goes to work every day, 6 days a week. I handle the house stuff. I work too, but I enjoy my job, it can be stressful, but…I don’t know it’s just different. He also carries in anything I bring home. We made a deal long ago that if I remember it, he has to carry it. That leaves anything forgotten not his responsibility, and anything that needs to be carried not mine. It works out nicely actually for both of us.

My husband is flawed, but in the grand scheme of things, he’s my balance. His flaws compliment my own. I’m overly motivated, busy and enjoy working on my house. I paint rooms for fun. I wash floors because I like the way they feel on my feet when they’re newly clean. I have a steam mop that is just fantastic. I’m house proud, but I also know a house is where you live so if it’s not lived in then you aren’t really living in a home. The dogs lay on the couch with us, and I just vacuum the couch and the dogs too for that matter. They don’t mind they’re all pretty used to it. The couch doesn’t complain either.

While he may not be the ideal fellow for some, he is for me. He helps when I’m in over my head, and if I’m not I’d rather just do it then bug him. Much as I love him, the man can’t wash a counter well to save his life. Rather than doing it over, I just do it in the first place. It’s easier, besides he hates doing it anyway. I’d rather spend the saved time spending it with him.

Perfect? He is to me. He does all the things I really need him to do. He hugs me when he comes home, and he keeps me warm at night and he’ll hold me when I feel crummy. Far as I’m concerned it doesn’t really get any better than that.