You’re like a stinky old cheese, babe
Just gettin’ riper with age
You’re like a fatal disease, babe
But there’s no cure
So let this fever rage
So singeth the incomparable Christopher Walken (as Wilbur) to a coy John Travolta in drag (Edna) in the musical ‘Hairspray
‘, which might just about be one of my favourite musicals in the world ever. Despite our comparative youth, the time has come to celebrate the character of Husby a little, and this verse sums up rather well how he’s doing (the stinky cheese bit).
When we were dating, Husby (and he’ll discover this when he reads it online for the first time – self-awareness hasn’t always been his strong point) was noticeably immature in some areas. Perhaps not for his age (I met him when he was 21 and I was 23) but just in a Boy vs Girl way (boys mature later – they just do. My Mum told me that and she has a knack of Being Right About These Things (except when she’s not, but those times are so rare I can count them on one hand (probably))). To the point where I would be wound up by *something* he was doing and complain to my friend (who was married to a younger man) who sympathised and told me that he would improve with age.
He was still wonderful to the point where, when he proposed, I accepted (having first checked to make sure he wasn’t joking) without hesitation. On the day we met for the first time, I’d felt that he’d had a touch of destiny about him. This marriage promised to be the fulfilment of my expectations and the answer to my prayers.
Thank goodness I didn’t have a crystal ball!
This marriage has been trying beyond belief. He has tested my patience in nearly every way known to man and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s invented some new ways, just because that’s how creative and ornery he can be. It was the death of many of my expectations and utterly exceeded others and has been a wonderful, difficult, painfully joyous BUMBLE in the right direction.
But. And this is a big BUT.
We’ve stuck together. We’ve largely been on the same team. Our relationship has deepened and strengthened and we’ve both been the proving of the other.
To this day, Husby remains perhaps the less confident of the pair in some areas, the quicker to defer and then resent the choices made (again, not about everything), but also by far the more generous half of the marriage – more willing to indulge me than I am him; the slower to anger – the quicker to make up.
And he’s done it all ill.
But now he’s on the mend. Today, no naps were had. The sermon was not fallen asleep in. The tired grumps were not present, and in spite of a sniffly nose, a good humour and positive engagement with life remained throughout the day. These are big steps for a chap with a year-and-some-long history of not being able to manage a day in its entirety due to a broken body.
His relationships with Niece and Neff are positive, warm, responsive (and responsible) and they are growing to love and respect him. They’re also doing it a lot quicker with him than they did with me in the beginning. With some affirmation that he’s doing the right thing and actually does have the right idea about why to relate to them in the way he does, he’s growing in confidence in his own abilities. Big steps.
These Very Good Things will continue and develop in wonderfully positive ways, I am sure.
For instance, later this week, he’s going to prioritise doing our receipts (we try to keep an eye on our budget), which are a coupla months overdue. What a star!
He’s committed to improving his washing-up skills by checking that items are clean before he puts them to dry (not just “cleaner than dirty”, which is the excuse I once got. My immediate retort was that it was “still dirtier than clean”, to which there was no response). Awesome stuff.
He may even go shopping for the new clothes he needs by himself
. With confidence that he can handle the residual childhood traumas we both suffer from regarding clothes shopping (when you get taken as a kid, by your Mum, to every
shop which sells the same item, to check the price or the fit or the cut or the fabric lah, lah, lah, and end up back at the first shop to buy the garment, it leaves a deep and residing scar) and can make the purchases sensibly and effectively. Hooray!
He’s also very, very creative. Another thing he’s not confident about (and which I often (to my shame) tease him about because I don’t like them) is his toy soldiers and the little models he makes for them. Lately he’s been working on a plague tower, and before that, some flying death shrimp-things, which he’s made from scratch. And they’re awesome. They’re really, really good.
He also really wants to play a musical instrument. Another thing I’m uncertain of (I have a musical background, his ability to stay in rhythm sometimes appears limited to his heartbeat) but he TRIES. And tries and tries and tries and isn’t discouraged, but wants to keep going and keep improving and really enjoys himself learning, which is so admirable.
The Husby model has received sufficient input and upgrades to be awarded at least 4.5 stars at this stage. I have every confidence that by the time we make it to ‘little olds’, he’ll be a 5/5.
I would like to congratulate myself on having made such an excellent choice.
|This has been a Husby-approved post – please see comments for proof.
I would also like to share with you what will prove to be an excellent addition to my repertoire of bad cheese jokes (now numbering 4). My thanks to QI
Q: What cheese do you use to persuade a bear to leave its cave?