Fair warning

On the first date with my husband, I spilled water on his trousers. On the second, it was coffee on the hand. There followed a pretzel in the eye (don’t ask), dog puke in his lap (really don’t ask), and a home cooked meal that was more like over-salted charcoal (the usual, I’m afraid).

And yet he persisted. As do my friends – even when I serve them inedible experiments or need to give them first aid for the minor burns I inflict upon them.

Why? Well maybe it’s because they’ve been pre-warned.

Upon inviting a new friend around for coffee, my husband obtained his phone number, “in case we have to change plans at short notice”. We don’t normally have to change plans, but okay, whatever. Just something he does – like combing the cat, saving the bread tags or plucking his nasal hairs with pliers.

So anyway, the next morning, my husband was running late so I opened his phone to text the carpool and advise a later pickup.

A text from the new friend was waiting on his home screen: “Sounds like a disaster! Can’t wait!”

Huh?

I opened the message to find that my loving husband had texted a warning the night before:

“Just for your own safety, wear three layers. And eat before you come.”

At first I was seriously offended, I mean, what the – ? But then I realised… I’d much rather this than have them injured or hungry. And if they react well to the warning, then we’re already off to a good start.

I closed the phone and made myself a coffee – only spilling a small amount on my husband’s jacket as I kissed him good-bye.

 

 


3 thoughts on “Fair warning

  1. I once dropped a really heavy cordless phone on my husband’s eye….we were in bed and the phone was on his side and when I went to hand it back to him after using it, it slipped from my hand and dropped straight down into his eye….and I started to laugh….I always laugh when someone gets hurt…it is like a nervous tic….we have smooth wood stairs going from our upper living space to the lower living space and people who are in their socks and not using the oar (we have my husband’s grandfather’s old oar as our handrail) often fall on their butts down the stairs and no matter who it is, I laugh like an idiot while apologizing profusely. My husband gets soooo mad at me but I can not help it.

    Like

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