I love my husband.
Really, I do.
And for years I have been fixing him lunch and letting him know as soon as it was ready (I don’t directly serve it to him because he has to add seasoning). This should be a routine carved onto my mind, right? An autopilot kind of deal.
And usually, it is.
The other day, however, was not usual. Thanks in large part to perimenopause, and a smaller part to Candida overgrowth, I had been fighting severe bloating and gas for three days in a row. That day, I decided that enough was enough. I was done forcing myself to eat only to feel afterwards that I’d swallowed a mix of balloons and thorns.
So that morning, it took me much longer than usual to finish my smoothie, and as lunchtime neared I knew I wasn’t going to eat anything. “I’m just going to cook you some sweet potato,” I announced to J. “I don’t feel like eating.”
And so, being the kind, dutiful wife that I am, I cut up part of a large sweet potato and got it cooking while I did my other usual kitchen chores that I do at the time. Everything completed, I checked the sweet potato pieces steaming in the saucepan. Almost done. So I turned off the burner, intending to let it sit for about three minutes to let the potato cook until tender.
I sat down at the table across from J, who was playing a game on his computer, and began working on my latest novel. I typed and I typed.
Then suddenly, I yanked my head up and looked at the clock. Ten minutes had passed.
Jumping up from my chair, I glanced over at J. “I completely forgot about you!”
J’s eyes lit up with love and tenderness. Rising to his feet, he swept me into a tight embrace and gave me a long, passionate kiss. “Oh, darling!” he exclaimed. “The very words every husband longs to hear his wife say!”
Okay, so he didn’t exactly do any of that. He just gave me the briefest of glances – and maybe a small, sad smile – and turned back to whatever was fascinating him on the computer.
As I dumped the sweet potato into his dish with sprouted seeds, I asked, “Did you just not notice? What if I hadn’t remembered at all?”
“Well,” he admitted, “I was just about to either ask you if it was done, or else get some cashews.”
Since he’s from the South, “just about” means sometime within the next hour. FYI.
I’m glad I have such a laid-back husband. Like I said, I love him. But like other people say, perimenopause can do strange things to a woman’s memory.
Not to mention a woman’s digestive system.
And it could have been worse. I could have not remembered for an hour, or forgotten about it entirely.
Moral of the story: if you want to turn up the heat in your marriage, surprise them with these five little words: “I completely forgot about you!”
Only, don’t blame me if it’s the kind of heat you were hoping for.