Husbands, too, can be right...

I love shopping, but I hate spending money lightly . Today I ran out of deodorant and found myself delighted at the prospect of new, necessary deodorant. Grocery shopping is my ecstasy. One of the first times I realized I loved Adam included a terrible day at work and him asking if I wanted to go walk around Target.

During one of his bathroom cleaning binges, Adam noticed that my straightener's cord was frayed. He encouraged me to buy a new one. Half wary of purchasing a replacement for a still functioning device and half begrudging the fact that he noticed the problem while moving said device, I ignored his recommendation.

Adam departs for work at 6:30. On this fateful day, I kissed him goodbye and headed to the bathroom for my warming straightener. After running it through my hair half a dozen times, it ensued to spark, smoke, and explode on a frightening scale. Discovering I am useless in emergency situations, I froze mid-hair-run-through. Still holding the iron at hair level, starring into the mirror, I waited in shock for something to catch on fire, electricity to surge though my body, or the feeling of some sort of immense pain. Realizing I was anguish-free, I yanked the plug out of the wall and surveyed the damages.

Picture some sort of TNT explosion on a Bugs Bunny cartoon- charred remains of the explosion surrounding the character who was gripping the dynamite. My wrist and the granite countertop resembled that cartoon. I panicked when I realized our Pit Bull, Mickey, was not holding his customary spot at my feet. Scenarios of doggie burn marks and electrical shocks streamed though my head.  I found him cowering under the coffee table in the living room, unharmed, and willing to come out for a Milkbone.

I cleaned the TNT remains off my wrist to find a blister. The countertop was unscathed. I called Adam on my way to work-he made no mention of "I told you so." Heaven knows those would have been the first words out of my mouth. We went  to Wal-Mart and he encouraged me to choose the more expensive straightening option. Praise the Lord for humble, wise husbands! 

Cohabitation

Adam and I returned from our honeymoon on a Saturday. My post-summer meetings started on Monday, while Adam enjoyed some time adjusting to the culture shock of his new habitat.

Maybe because I grew up with a cosmetically minded sister, maybe because I shared a tiny college locker room with fifteen other girls, maybe because I lived independently for five years...counter tops covered in bobby pins, hair gizmos, foundation, and face wash do not bother me. The kitchen on the other hand is an entirely different animal. Cluttered counter-tops raise my blood pressure. No crumbs. No soaking pans. No bottles waiting for their escort to the recycle.

Monday meetings arrived and after rushing out the door for my first day back to school, I habitually left my pins, gizmos, and face wash laying around the bathroom sink. Ten hours later I returned home, kissed my husband, complained about the purposelessness of the day, and retreated to the shower as even without kids in the building, I feel covered with germs. Entering the bathroom, I was aware of the fact that my things were not in their assigned spots. Unknown to me as our marriage was ten days old, the acceptable countertop toiletries consist of the following:

Toothbrushes

Toothpaste

Glasses case (of the male persuasion)

Soap dispenser

Razor (the face shaving sort)

Shaving cream

Any items not following this protocol were deemed awol and taken as prisoners of the ensuing cold war. Hoping this military precision would also transfer the kitchen, I made my way down the hall. As foreshadowed-crumbs, soaking pans, empty bottles galore.  Perplexed by breakfast dishes enjoying an extended stay in the sink and my face wash going M.I.A., the commander and chief of passive aggression  washed the dishes in the sink and proceeded to slam every door in the bathroom looking for the lost.

This continued for the week and became grudgingly ritualistic. This is not submission. This is not M.U.S.I.C. My battle is not against my husband. "Understand this dear brothers and sisters: You must all be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry." Thank you Adam for choosing me, bobby pins and all. Thank you for wiping the counter yesterday. I keep my face wash in the shower.