“Oh, my heavens, if I mop the floor, he and the dog come in with muddy feet! If I clean the toys out of the yard, cut the grass and weed the flower beds, he comes in with a load of lumber and sets it square in the middle of the yard. He’s hoping to build me a shed, you know.”
Actually I didn’t know. I listened to the woman with growing impatience. Having met in the local hardware store when I asked her if she knew where the steamer trunk locks might be, we fell into step and drifted through the aisles talking. Generally I enjoy chance meetings like this. However, the lengthy dialogue complaining about what she saw as her husband’s many faults made me chomp at the bit to respond.
Barely taking a breath, she moved to his habit of dropping dirty clothes on the floor instead of putting them in the hamper. Of course the old stand-by, the toilet seat left at attention, entered the conversation. Tacked carelessly in the middle of her diatribe came a brief nod to his kindness and building talent.
“That blasted hound sleeping on the foot of our bed, when he should be downstairs in the washroom, is almost the last straw. I tell you if I didn’t love the man, I’d leave him for neater pastures.”
“I kind of liked my husband’s habit of spreading the newspaper all over the living room every Sunday. As he discarded, I picked the section up, read it and stacked it for disposal into the recycle bin. By the way, my name is Maggie.” I turned to face her.
“Oh, I’m Genna – with an ‘enna’ not ‘ina’,” she replied, her lips parting in a smile over pretty straight teeth. I rarely smile that big because it lets everyone know that braces would have been a blessing.
“Genna, I know things can be aggravating when our guys are messy, but I can tell you right now I would give anything to have my Bruce make just one mess – small, big or in between.”
“Are you a saint?” She laughed.
“No, hon, I’m a widow and before that I was a caretaker of a wheelchair bound husband who could do nothing for himself. Before that I was married to the most delightful, sometimes irritating, always loving man on earth.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be so flippant,” she stammered.
“That’s okay. It’s been almost three years. It’s easier to bear except for those unexpected moments when I’m sure I see him at a distance or dream about him at night. What I’m trying to say, Genna, is that man of yours may be messy, but I can tell by other things you said that he’s a pretty nice fellow regardless. Am I right?”
She blushed. “Oh, yes, he is. He’s always bringing me flowers. Maybe they aren’t the expensive ones, but if he finds a plant he thinks I would like in my garden, he’ll get a cutting or buy a small pot filled with it. And I don’t care what I cook – sometimes it’s pretty awful – he says ‘Honey, that was real good. Thank you.’ I don’t know of any other husband who does that.”
“He sounds pretty special.” I nodded in agreement. “He sounds like the kind of man I would say only good things about to other people. My husband and I were married forty-four years. We had disagreements, but we never took our private business outside the house. If someone asked one of us about the other, we told them how fortunate we were to have each other. Never once in all those years did either of us speak badly of the other to family, friends or neighbors.”
“You were a saint!” she said. Her hands formed a halo over her head.
“No, not a saint, just someone who wanted to give the best gift she possibly could to her husband – a wife who built him up at every opportunity. Like I said, if my husband could walk into the house, shed clothing from front door to bedroom where he always changed to jeans, I would never complain about anything ever again. You still have that opportunity. Don’t waste it. Don’t have regrets if anything should happen to him or you.”
We arrived at the cashier. She went through the line first and waited for me at the other end.
“I’m glad we met today, Maggie. I can’t imagine our lives will suddenly be perfect, but you can bet Johnathon is going to hear less harping about his muddy boots. And that lumber? Hey, it’s a storage shed for my craft items, so why am I badgering him? I know he’ll get it put up next week. Thanks for giving me something to think about. Could we keep in touch?”
We exchanged phone numbers. It’s been a week since that meeting. Genna called today to tell me her husband had noticed a change in her attitude. Even better, he was changing his, too. This morning he brought home welcome mats for the front and back doors to wipe his muddy boots.