When Hubby and I were married, he was green. And, no — not the kind of green that’s all hip and all about conservation of resources. (If only).
No, he was the kind of green guy who thought a wedding ring made all of dating’s polite pretenses and manners obsolete. No longer did he have to worry about table manners. Or complimenting every single thing I did. Or . . .keeping bodily functions locked in the bathroom.
Unfortunately for him, I was (and am) the kind of girl who believes dating manners should never die and “tooting” should never happen in front of me.
Two years, my friends.
That’s how long it took to train my husband — my stubborn husband.
What did I accomplish?
- He eats slowly and no longer fills his plate five times (so embarrassing when you’re at an all you can eat buffet).
- He understands the importance of choosing a birthday card wisely; no more cards showing a dog about to lick himself (with the caption saying, “Do Whatever Makes Ya Feel Good.”). This was a very important lesson.
- When a certain bodily function must pass (yes, pun intended), Hubby leaves the room. . . before the release! (this part of the training process took FOREVER. Ugh!)
- IF he is not able to leave the room before “tooting,” he simply says, “Excuse me.” No more “DID YOU HEAR THAT” or “WOW! WHAT DID I EAT?“. Nope, those phrases are a thing of the past.
- He eats whatever I prepare for meals . . . without complaint. I am not a short-order cook; if he doesn’t like what I made or wanted something else, Hubby keeps that info to himself. (Luckily, I’m a pretty good home-chef)
- He no longer looks like this:
'Nuff Said.
- No matter what my mom asks (or tells) him to do, Hubby jumps right to it. . . and he LIKES it. No mother-in-law fights or grumbles from this boy.
- Laundry. I *hate* doing laundry. Guess who has learned to love doing it?
Before you gasp at those last two, yes, I know I’m high-maintenance. But, believe me, Hubby and I both know I’m worth it.
(Of course, now that we have kids, new battles have arisen. Like his addition to potty-training. Now, each time the Little Lady flushes anything “number-two” related, she waves and cheerfully says, “Bye, T-sips!” If you are a Texas A&M fan, you know what that means . . . and understand why it’s a little less than couth.)
