Lady David

I would like to say first that I got David's permission to write this post. Granted, he was deeply involved in some nerd game on the iPad, so he might not have been listening too closely, but still, he said, "Sure, that's fine."

I would like to say secondly that anybody who knows David knows what a great guy he is. I'm not just saying that casually like, "Oh, he's such a great guy." No, he's really amazing. He is an incredible husband and father. Watching him with the girls melts my heart every time. They hear his keys at the door at the end of the day, look at me–their eyes lighting up, the biggest smiles on their faces showing all their teeth and the funny spaces in between where teeth haven't appeared yet–then look at the door and scream, "DA!!!! DA-deee!!" Every single day when he comes home, he gives me a break and lets me get housework done or just sit outside on the patio for a few minutes. He feeds the girls supper and bathes them most nights. He gets their beds ready. He helps clean up the bathroom. On the weekends, he lets me go out shopping or run errands just so I can get out of the house by myself while he stays with the girls. If I'm working late at night on freelance, he'll come by and give me a back rub. He makes me anything I want to eat. He takes such good care of us. He treats me so much better than I deserve to be treated. Really. I have it good. I have it very, very good. I love him so much.

And now I'm about to make fun of him. Just remember how much I love you, sweetie pie puddin' bear.

Y'all know I've talked about David's cooking before. He is an amazing cook and he loves to try anything. I'll be flipping through a magazine and say, "Oh, that looks yummy," and he'll say, "Let's make it!" I don't think I'm a bad cook, I just don't necessarily want to do it all the time. I do love to bake, though. And I love for us to cook something together. And when we have time, we'll make meals together, usually on the weekends, and I love doing that. David is a recipe follower. I'm more of a "I like this ingredient, so let's double it" kind of cooker. I know recipes are there for a reason, but it's O-KAY if a little extra vanilla slips into the cake batter. (I generally triple the vanilla.) Oh, no, not for David. "Oh, gosh, we have to throw it all out! It's ruined!" And, David is a back-seat cooker. I'll be whipping up some eggs for a souffle and hear this nervous breathing right over my shoulder.

"David, what do you want?"

"Well, I just think maybe if you used the whisk attachment, it'll make them flu-"

"No."

"Okay, I just...maybe...if you-"

"NO!"

He means well, he really does. But, you cook how you want to cook and I'll cook how I want to cook. I haven't killed anybody with my cooking yet. After one such back-seat cooking incident, I endearingly dubbed him "Lady David." It was for his own good. So, now, whenever I can tell he's dying to give me some advice on how to properly sift dry ingredients, I gently say, "Not now, Lady David. Get back to seasoning your steak."

And if you've been around David, you've heard him make at least one "a woman's place" joke. Let me clarify first by saying that David is not chauvinistic in any form or fashion. He is very respectful of women. He does, however, think it's hilarious to make "a woman's place" jokes. We've all gotten accustomed to it now and just ignore him. And I deter him from making the jokes too often by making Lady David jokes of my own. "Hey, Lady David, why don't you get in the kitchen and scramble me some eggs. Bring me a Sprite while you're at it."

We have a very loving relationship...really.

All that to say...I now have some new ammo for my "Lady David" rants. This past weekend, I ran some errands in town. I try to avoid Wal-Mart if at all possible, but sometimes they're the only ones who have what you need and sometimes you don't want to spend $45 on a set of hedge clippers. (Wal-Mart had them for $10). So, I ran to Wal-Mart. I regretted it as soon as I walked inside. There were SOOOOO MANY PEOPLE. It made me think of the Dwight K. Schrute quote, "We need a new plague." And then I thought, "That's selfish of me. And somewhat self-harming, because what if I got the plague, too." Still, there were too many people. I needed some stuff for the patio and I needed some loofahs for the shower. I always try to find David a "man loofah" because he whines about the frilly white ones I sometimes get. I was trapped between a Mom with three kids in her cart trying to pick out toothbrushes and two men blocking the entire aisle with their carts just chit-chatting about fish. FISH. Who cares about fish, move your cart! I see near me those sea sponges. You know what I'm talking about? On the tag it stated "voted best beauty and bath product by Allure magazine." Well, if Allure likes it, it must be awesome, right? My fear of being crushed alive by an inundating wave of Wal-Mart patrons was growing stronger, so I grabbed two sponges and darted to the registers.

That night, I was in the shower and squirted some bath wash on my fancy new Allure-approved sponge. I started at my shoulders.....aaahhhhh, nice. This sucker felt awesome! It had texture on it, so it was great for exfoliation. You know in Narnia's Voyage of the Dawn Treader (in the book, not the movie) when Aslan is ripping through Eustace's dragon skin, tearing off each layer at a time, each one hurting more than the other, but feeling good because he's free of that burden. My new sponge was like that. I felt so clean and fresh. I got out of the shower, put some lotion on. I was radioactive. You could have gotten a tan off of how much my skin was glowing. That sounds snobby, but you know when your skin looks its best and you look in the mirror, point and wink at yourself and say, "Hey, lookin' goooood." I was so happy with that sponge. I felt great!

David took his shower next. I'm reading in bed. I hear the shower stop. I hear David brush his teeth. He opens the bathroom doors and declares, "That new sponge you got really hurts. It hurts my skin. It hurt to take a bath with it."

I query, "What do you mean it hurts? I liked it."

He responds, "Well, it just wasn't comfortable. It was like bathing with a volcanic rock."

Of course, my Mom's side of the family aggravation gene kicks in and I say, "Aww...gosh. I'm sorry, sweetie. If I had known you had wittle baby skin, I would have stopped by The Baby Skin Store and gotten you a loofah made out of swan feathers and angel whispers."

He furrows his brow (not unlike the way Piper Lee [his mini-me] furrows hers), grunts "Shut up," and turns off the lights while. I'm. still. reading. Can you believe that? Hmph! The nerve of Lady David.