The one thing I love most about Husband is how he's always looking for ways to compliment me. The one thing I love most about myself is how I'm always offering him opportunities to compliment me. On our first date, he looked straight in my eyes and said, "You're really cute."
I set down the shovel I was using to re-locate fries to my talk hole and whispered back. "I love you too."
"Well, I didn't say love."
"No, but you meant it."
"That's why we'll make such a great pair. I can infer anything from what you're saying. If I order cheesecake, will you pay for it?"
"I'm glad you like my hair."
Now that we're nearing the end of this pregnancy, I can't help reflecting on all the opportunities I've given Husband to compliment me, over the last nine months, and how good that feels. Especially when it comes to my obsessive cleaning streak.... Although, his senses may have dulled over the last five years, because it's getting harder for him to notice said opportunities.
Every day, when he comes home from work, I try and give him hints as to what that day's compliment is. Men usually respond well to sitting right next to them on the couch and staring at the side of their head. "Did you like it?"
"Did I like what?"
"The shower curtain liner. Me and the babies cleaned it today."
"Umm. Yes. It was very...white."
"Because, I looked at that dirty liner and thought, "What my baby wants, my baby gets."
"Yes, it was very...er..thoughtful."
"Did you see what I did?"
"What was that?"
I bat my eyelids. "Oh, don't play coy with me. You're such a wily fox when you want to be."
"You killed a fox?"
"No, silly. I finally used the Magic Eraser to get that sticker residue off the back door."
"Yeah, I guess that needed to be done."
"Because I'm beautiful and the only one in the world for you. Right? Right?"
"You're scaring me."
I don't always let my work speak for itself though. I'll admit that sometimes I fish for compliments. When Husband came down to breakfast on Saturday, I was a little shameless. He frowned at me. "Why are you miming? It's not a holiday."
I flailed my arms.
"Wait, are you playing charades?"
"Four words. Five syllables. You're grinding something. You're pouring tea? You're sewing the first American flag? You ate a Magic Eraser and need to be flushed out?"
On these days, I can't help blushing a little bit. "No, silly. I was grinding beans, purifying water, brewing it over an old fashioned camp fire and telling stories with my fellow settlers because....I made you coffee!"
At which point, he usually takes the coffee, shakes his head and walks out to the living room. Because he loves me, and can't live without me, and is really trying to tell this perfectly sane, pregnant lady that her hair looks great and she'll never look like she's fifty pounds overweight to him.
Compliment received. Over and out.
Until Next Time, Readers!