I have a confession to make: I used to complain about my husband.
Yes, I have to admit that Rick, my perfect husband, the man I adored so much in life, was actually not so perfect, after all. And at times, when I was out with friends, or particularly aggravated by some of his failings or bad habits, I bitched about him.
It was the usual type of complaining women so often do: Every time I get up from a chair and leave the room, I take something with me to put away. But Rick! He walks right past an empty glass. AND, another thing… he doesn’t even notice the laundry basket waiting to be taken downstairs and walks down the stairs empty handed! Oh, and he can’t find ANYTHING – especially in the refrigerator. How hard can it be to find a ketchup bottle? I just move one thing, and there it is. Why can’t he do that?
Innocuous complaints. Harmless chatter among friends. And, now, looking back to those occasions, I pray there wasn’t a widow within hearing distance. And if there was, I owe her my most humble apology, and my condolences.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry if you heard me, us, complaining about our spouses. I’m so, so very sorry, because now I get it. . . Read the blog here.
