Husband's compliment has wife wondering

I found out this week that my husband has got it.

Got it bad.

I’m kicking myself because I should’ve known.

Maybe I should’ve expected it during this ongoing pandemic?

As long as we’re trying on maybe’s, maybe he shouldn’t have gone there.

So, let me invite you into certain marital conversation that took place this week.

I came downstairs yesterday, having cleaned up a bit from the steamy morning dog walk.

Husband gave me a little kiss, smiled and said, “You look pretty today, Wife.”

Let’s break this one sentence down.

He and I often qualify sweet things we say to each other with “today,” as in, “I love you today.” You might think it limiting.

For us, the “today” qualifier marks and appreciates this moment in time.

Whatever.

Works for us.

Oh, and yes, he calls me, “Wife,” as his term of endearment.

It’s not some caveman, drag me by the hair thing.

He’s playing off of my calling him, “Husband,” which you might be shocked to discover I do even outside the margins of this weekly column.

“Husband” comes from those early days of marriage when I couldn’t get over the miracle that I actually had one. Frankly, couldn’t think of anything more precious to call him.

So, yeah.

He’s Husband. I’m Wife.

Which is why Husband might’ve just stopped with his sweet, “You look pretty today, Wife.”

Only he didn’t.

You know those thoughts that continue in your head after you’ve said something, Dear Reader?

Husband felt compelled to share his.

“You look pretty most days,” he shared.

When he saw my twisted “Where are you going with this?” expression.

“90% of the days you look pretty,” his number-loving brain tried to reassure me.

I did the math. That’s 328.5 days of pretty. 329.4 during leap year.

Which leaves 36.5 days not so much.

Which were the not pretty days?

Last Tuesday? Oct. 17-23?

And when he says “pretty” does he mean pandemic pretty? Because you and I both know the bar has dropped big time since March.

Anything beyond a clean T-shirt without a stain and hair not up in a scrunchie is a fancy pants kind of day.

Add a swipe of mascara and we’re talking the equivalent of prom night.

This assessment is inspiring me to do a whole other kind of math. Schlepie + Scrunchie and he still sees me as 90% pretty? Poor guy. He’s got it bad.

A big ol’case of love.

The kind that makes him show up as the best quarantine partner I can imagine, getting through the sameness of the days as they run together, knowing he would be here to care for me if I did get sick.

That’s one heck of a guy.

Eight years into this marriage with this imperfectly perfect man, I’m kicking myself. I should’ve known.

The picture of this quirky marriage is so pretty, even on those days when I am not.