My husband has had to put up with a lot over the years.
The woman he married is usually in her own world and he usually has to make sure he makes eye contact when making a request. Otherwise, no can do.
When we moved into our brand, spanking new house we didn't have a mailbox. So, Doc had to put one in himself. Our son, Bashful, decided to help out with this manly pursuit. So, father and son troop outside with mailbox and wood and proceeded to dig a hole on the left side of the driveway and pound the thing into the ground.
Occasionally, I would sneak a peek out the window watching them pound and pound away at the rock hard earth. Finally, they were done and Doc came in sweaty and tired and swearing off mailboxes forever.
Or so he thought.
I'm sure he had the presence of mind to tell his absent-minded wife not to run over the mailbox, but since I had no deliberate intention of doing so, I didn't have the usual talk with myself about not destroying my husband's hard work.
A couple mornings later, everyone piled in the van so that I could drive Bashful to school. I backed out of the driveway like I always do totally forgetting that we had a new mailbox.
I flattened that thing like a pancake.
My poor husband walks through the door later that night with the usual incredulous expression on his face that I've seen occasionally over the course of our married life.
My usual expression was plastered to mine as I sheepishly smiled and said, "Sorry."
To prevent his wife's disastrous clutziness from doing the same thing again, he had the presence of mind to put the new mailbox on the other side of the driveway.
A couple years go by and the mailbox is still standing. The other day, I look out the window and saw a dent in our van that I had never noticed before. I said, "Oh, my gosh! Someone hit our van and then ran off!" Doc said, "No, honey, that was when you hit the mailbox." I said, "Oh. Um, hee. Sorry."
Previously published on April 24, 2007.
The woman he married is usually in her own world and he usually has to make sure he makes eye contact when making a request. Otherwise, no can do.
When we moved into our brand, spanking new house we didn't have a mailbox. So, Doc had to put one in himself. Our son, Bashful, decided to help out with this manly pursuit. So, father and son troop outside with mailbox and wood and proceeded to dig a hole on the left side of the driveway and pound the thing into the ground.
Occasionally, I would sneak a peek out the window watching them pound and pound away at the rock hard earth. Finally, they were done and Doc came in sweaty and tired and swearing off mailboxes forever.
Or so he thought.
I'm sure he had the presence of mind to tell his absent-minded wife not to run over the mailbox, but since I had no deliberate intention of doing so, I didn't have the usual talk with myself about not destroying my husband's hard work.
A couple mornings later, everyone piled in the van so that I could drive Bashful to school. I backed out of the driveway like I always do totally forgetting that we had a new mailbox.
I flattened that thing like a pancake.
My poor husband walks through the door later that night with the usual incredulous expression on his face that I've seen occasionally over the course of our married life.
My usual expression was plastered to mine as I sheepishly smiled and said, "Sorry."
To prevent his wife's disastrous clutziness from doing the same thing again, he had the presence of mind to put the new mailbox on the other side of the driveway.
A couple years go by and the mailbox is still standing. The other day, I look out the window and saw a dent in our van that I had never noticed before. I said, "Oh, my gosh! Someone hit our van and then ran off!" Doc said, "No, honey, that was when you hit the mailbox." I said, "Oh. Um, hee. Sorry."
Previously published on April 24, 2007.
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