This title refers to an inside joke that I will attempt to explain, knowing it will undoubtedly be far less funny to you than it was originally to me & my best friend. I whispered this comment to Jen while we were watching Shooter, at the point in the movie when young Mr. Wahlberg was having a bullet removed from his bare (chiseled, sweaty, rippling) chest. Oh, and he was mostly naked, because that's standard procedure when one is having a bullet removed from the chest.
However, this post is not about that potential second husband but my current, so-far-fabulous husband. After a characteristically subtle hint about my Easter basket never showing signs of treats, I awoke Sunday morning to not one but TWO chocolate bars - organic, no less! Surely picked and processed by well-paid, kindly treated South American workers; it certainly tastes righteous. Not only did my man take the time to go get me goodies, he ventured into The Store That Drives Him Crazy for them. That's love, people. Or the resigned reaction of a beaten-down husband. Whatever, I have chocolate.
After church, he cooked most of our Easter lunch (I took charge of microwaving the green beans), allowing me, without too much eye-rolling, to give him appropriate serving dishes. He loaded the dishwasher. And then, on his own volition and with no exasperated reminders from me, he handwashed the pots, pans, knives, and baking dishes. I wondered for a few minutes if my husband had been inhabited by an alien who had spent time observing a gay man before coming to Earth. But then he grabbed my ass and peeked at my underwear.
But wait, there's more! While I retreated to our bedroom with the laptop and my chocolate, DH unquestioningly took on kid patrol. Two hours later, he called me to dinner. I couldn't remember begging or pleading, and I hadn't heard the doorbell indicating pizza delivery. I came down the stairs in a computer screen-induced fog to be greeted with a wiped-down kitchen, clean dishes put away, and mac & cheese (from scratch!) with cubed leftover ham hot on the table. Again, the possibility of alien possession occurred to me. I started to wonder what kind of payment would be exacted for this flurry of domestic activity. Strangely, the man didn't try any wink, wink, nudge, nudge with me. Kind of like Jesus, he just did what needed doing and called it good. Oh, Stu did ask if I could rub his back later but I'm sure even the Lord asked someone for a decent foot massage after the resurrection, it just didn't get recorded.
What a glorious day.