The Husband Owes Her One, Volume 1

The old saying, “the woman is always right” is one I heard many times over, mostly in jest, up to and after our wedding.

“Just get ready! You know SHE’S always gonna be right!”

The obligatory chuckles always followed, but I always knew it: my wife is quite sharp where I’m not, and sometimes, the roles are reversed. For my part, I admit I have my share of mental “lapses” if you will; bouts of forgetfulness and even bullheadedness. She is always there to tell me so, and more often than not, she’s definitely correct.

So it was that yesterday morning, I found myself all set to leave the house and head to school for football practice. I put on my sneakers, grabbed my hat, wallet, and phone, and was just about to grab my….

keys.

One quick rifle through the basket by the door where they always are – nothing. Another more meticulous search – nope.

Sudden flash – I had brought them out when we had gone shopping the day before so I could lock the door. My wife drove, so not wanting to jam my wad of keys into my pocket, I just placed them in the well of the passenger door. Many bags of purchases later, there they remained. And there they were when I wanted to leave the next day. She had driven her car and my keys to work a few hours earlier.

What can be said? It was instant recognition that I might as well wear the dunce cap.

Precariously, I called her up.

“Honey, problem.”

Who knows what she was thinking just at this point.

“What?”

“I’m pretty sure I left my keys in your car.”

Sigh. Another longer, more exasperated sigh.

“Don’t you have a spare set?”

“No, not for those ones.”

“I’m at WORK. What do you expect me to DO?”

Long story, short – my tail went squarely between my legs; she came back home, through a legion of construction (sacrificing her lunch hour of course – the shame!), and brought them to me a few hours later.

Now, as penance, and because I enjoy writing, I am now a contributing blogger here on {a year of marriage.} I promise to take better care of my keys and truly remember that yes, my wife is there to help me, and I her, whenever I can.

Whether it’s her saintly actions like this one or me, on one wife-service afternoon last week, hauling all her clothes upstairs from the massive piles sprawling atop the dryer and placing them neatly in dresser drawers and on hangers in the closet – I think we’ll make it. She had to navigate lane closures on her lunch hour, and I had to handle mounds of spaghetti straps and inside-out dresses. If we can keep up this devotion, the future is bright.