Why I Liked Having A Husband

No matter what happens, there is always someone to give you a hug at the end of the day, someone who will come up behind you in the kitchen when you're grumpy and cooking, and they'll throw their arms around you and say something like "I love it when you're focused so ferociously." And then later, they'll say "Isn't it amazing how you can take all these random ingredients your find in the fridge and come up with something so delicious."

And when you're having one of those days. You know, those days, when you've run out of milk so there's no tea in the morning, and the dogs come in with muddy feet, and your daughter has borrowed your favorite dress, and your hair is frizzy because of the rain, and your clients are being surly, and you lose a story you've been working on, and you haven't had time to go to yoga, there's always someone who is ready to tell you you're brilliant. And you're not. You're clearly not brilliant or kind or any of those things. In fact, you're small and timid and fearful and wondering why any of it is worth it, but there they are, standing in front of you with a big smile on their face, beaming at you as if the sun rises and sets with you, with your frizzy hair and your sallow complexion and your misery. And you can't help but smile too. You can't help but think that the world is a better place because there is someone else forcing you to believe it.

That's what it is. A husband is someone on your team, who gets you. Someone who loves you even when you are feeling fat, or ugly, or unloved or unloveable. Someone who makes you forget you're homesick. Someone who takes your car in to get the wheels aligned because they know you won't. Someone who puts a registration sticker on your license plate because they know you'll forget. Someone who forces you to breathe the air and walk in the trees because they know that it will revive you, even if it isn't important to them.

And it's someone who doesn't think you're silly and understands when you have a tantrum and doesn't accuse you of being a child even though you're behaving like a five year old. They're just there. With big open arms, ready to catch you when you fall.

Or at least, that's how I remember it.

But here's the truth: they know you're crazy but they never mention it. Not once. Not once do they point out that you are nuttier than squirrel poo. They just love you. Solidly. Constantly. Without question.

That's why I don't like being single. I'm learning. But it's not easy.

Kindness. Forgiveness. Love. It's all we can do.

That, and find someone who loves us back.

And a dog. A dog always makes everything better.