“If only you could borrow my eyes, you’d understand how amazing he truly is.” My grandmother would say this whenever someone dared to speak ill of my grandfather. Their love was something special, a genuine connection that made them overlook each other’s imperfections. I firmly believe that everyone should experience such profound love—a bond so strong that minor flaws become endearing quirks. Take my husband, for instance.
While he can magically locate the TV remote (even when it’s buried in the couch cushions), he seems utterly incapable of finding any household item that’s in plain sight. “Where’s the flashlight?” he’ll inquire. “In the utility drawer.” “No, it’s not. I checked.” Cue me pressing pause on our Netflix binge, setting down my drink, and fetching the flashlight from its designated spot. “Yes, it is.” “Oh. I didn’t see it.” This scenario repeats itself countless times each day with items like dish towels, notepads, and even spatulas. It’s as if he believes in household fairies—the kind that magically replenish hand soap and toilet paper. Apparently, these mystical beings have a fondness for doing chores.
Here are some other quirks I find myself overlooking regularly:
- Bedtime Battles: Our bed feels like a wrestling ring. I think my husband might have dreams of being a ninja, as he often flails his arms during the night, accidentally smacking me. Sorry, love, but you’ll never be the Karate Kid. I try to build a fortress of pillows to protect myself, but he also has restless leg syndrome. I often wake up in a panic, convinced we’re experiencing an earthquake, only to realize it’s just him kicking the mattress.
- Dish Dilemmas: Why is it so hard to just put dirty dishes in the sink? Or better yet, into the dishwasher? Coffee mugs seem to multiply all over the house, snack containers linger by the couch and computer, and dirty dishes scatter across the counter. It’s like he has a magnetic force field preventing him from taking those two extra steps. Oh wait, that describes me too. Never mind.
- Laundry Lapses: My husband was a basketball star in high school, yet his shooting skills don’t seem to extend to getting socks and underwear into the hamper. Clothing tends to pile up around the hamper, on the bathroom floor, and near the dresser. I’ve even contemplated putting a scoreboard on the hamper to encourage better habits.
- Laundry Catastrophes: He once ruined my favorite sweater by washing it with a new pair of jeans, leaving it looking like it had been through a blue dye explosion. When he declared, “I can never do laundry again,” I didn’t protest, as he rarely complains when I have to rewash loads left too long in the washer.
- Gas Attacks: Let’s talk about his, ahem, flatulence. We’re not talking minor toots here; his emissions are powerful enough to rattle the furniture and register on the Richter scale. Our kids have learned to stand clear, as the sheer force could knock them over. There should be a new term for what he does—Fartlosion? Atomic Stink Bomb? Colon Quake?
- Snoring Symphony: And then there’s the snoring. That human chainsaw is so disruptive that our son requested a bedroom change, even though he’s at the far end of the hallway! I have little sympathy, considering I have to sleep with this roaring grizzly bear. I buy earplugs in bulk and am surprised we haven’t been reported for disturbing the peace.
Of course, I’m not claiming to be the easiest person to live with. When I once asked him what I could improve about myself, he simply brewed me a cup of coffee and said, “Nothing. You have no quirks.” So, I guess he is perfect—perfect for me.
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In summary, love means embracing imperfections and finding humor in everyday quirks. My husband’s antics keep life interesting, and I wouldn’t trade our bond for anything.