Husbands

They don’t always help with the dishes.
They don’t always finish the laundry.
They don’t always pick up their socks from the living room floor.
They don’t always know where to go on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
Or what to do for dinner.
Or how to keep to a budget, however loosely defined.

But there’s always a place in the crook of their shoulder that feels like home.
They laugh at your lame jokes. They share some of your opinions.
They keep you company even if there’s nothing to do but watch TV.
Even if there’s nothing on TV.
They smile when they feel your eyes on them.

Unfortunately,
they don’t always call when they’re out of town.

I don’t know how single people do it. I mean, I got a lot of housework done this afternoon and tonight, and I know that the minute he walks in the door, all that cleanliness is over. But as much as I like my clean bathroom, my organized living room, my empty sink, I miss the man. And he’s only gone for a couple of days. I do enjoy the solitude for a little while, but ultimately, I am really a very social person. And since all my friends are moving to California, where apparently all telephone calls to the east coast must be blocked or something, when James isn’t around, I get lonely. And kind of bored. And I get mad when I know that at some point today he could have called from Nashville, but didn’t. And I know there’s no block from Tennessee because he did call me from there yesterday. So that’s the part of my day that sucked worse than scrubbing the toilet, worse than rinsing dishes or folding his whites. So even though it means driving to Baltimore Airport probably during rush hour tomorrow, I’m glad he’ll be around again. To leave his socks on the bed, his hair in the tub, and hold me like he means it.

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