I’m a horrible wife in every sense of the word. I’m not sure, but it might possibly have something to do with the fact that I have this teeny, tiny, little issue with needing to control everyone and everything I come in contact with. In our wedding vows, we (umm…I) decided to remove the part about “obeying” because I didn’t want to lie right there in front of God and everyone. It’s still a mystery as to why this man didn’t turn and run screaming in the opposite direction from me on our wedding day. I mean, it’s not like I’m a super model who does charity work. My feet smell bad, and I hog the bathroom. You would think that after two and a half years of dating, he would have collected his combat pay and moved on to some sweet doctoral candidate who works with orphaned children and enjoys baking cupcakes for the elderly shut-ins. But, he stayed.
What I lack in compassion, I make up for by being completely unsympathetic. Whenever an illness befalls him, he knows to look elsewhere for someone to feel sorry about it. The exchange goes something like this: "Oh, you have a cold? Well, I gave birth to two children without one, single ounce of medication, so, you know, suck it up." Doesn't it make you want to rush right out and make me your bride? Honestly, I'm not sure why he still hangs out with me. It must be my lasagna...or my awesome brain full of useless music trivia.
So, there you have it. I did do something I said I would do. I promised to stick with this guy through the good and the bad, and I actually followed through. (He can, without a doubt, attest to the fact that we have had more than our share of bad.) He has put up with The Queen of Mean and lived to tell about it. It's too bad they don't make a Purple Heart for Courage and Bravery Under Fire from a PMS-ing Know-It-All, because this guy has certainly earned it.