No, it’s not a cooking blog. But it is about a cook.
Like most of you, I am addicted to surfing and clicking and reading and often find myself lost in a sea of ‘mommy blogs’ as I too am a wife and mother. But the one thing I’ve noticed that I don’t get, is that all the Mommy bloggers seem to have these fantastic, supportive, perfect husbands who make life wonderful and blog-worthy. What’s with that? Where the hell was I when those were getting passed out? Surely all of you haven’t scored the truly better, better-half? I say baloney to that. Mine, all-be-he sweet, kind and yes, I acknowledge, — a fantastic cook — most days can completely drive me up the wall!
In fact, he makes me especially crazy WHEN he cooks. And I am not even talking about the tornado like state of the kitchen that usually results either. I’m talking about the ‘looking’ — because, inherently, boys are bad lookers. He’ll be at the counter with ingredients flying around left and right and he leans his long monkey arms to the the fridge and after about 2.5 milliseconds roars out “Hey Duck (that’s me) where’s the _________????” — as if I purposely hide the groceries from him to play games or something. In the early days of wedded bliss when I was still in awe having someone make yummy food for me, I would dash to the kitchen and quickly pull out whatever he wanted, usually from directly under his nose, or in fact slightly lower because obviously bending those knees an inch or two to be able to look at something other than the top shelf was just too much for him. Gradually I tired of the dash and grab and began to point out, with only the tiniest hint of sarcasm, “It was right there in front of you, beside the butter”. And now, 15 years later, I’ve ratcheted up the sarcasm a notch or two and my standard answer whenever he asks me for anything, anytime, anywhere, is … “IT’S BESIDE THE BUTTER!”
So world, this is a blog about our boys — husbands, boyfriends, fiances, fathers, uncles and sons — and how all those little annoying things they unknowingly do, or often don’t do, from forgetting, to assuming, to avoiding, to, some days, simply breathing, can put us over the edge. It’s a damn good thing we love them.
So please, for my own sanity and yours, send me some tales to post that make you feel better to share and make me feel like I’m not the only one who didn’t land Mr. Perfect. And remember, his watch, favorite blue shirt, philips screwdriver, car keys and that little slip of paper with his mother’s number on it are all … BESIDE THE BUTTER.