I married a smart man

The Dad is a smart man.  Some days (most days?) I forget this little tidbit.  Yesterday, however, I was reminded just how smart he is.

When The Dad and I were first married, we reach an agreement about our marital bed.  Whoever is the last one out of it in the mornings would make it.  I interpreted this to mean that if The Dad gets out of bed before I do (which is six and a half mornings out of seven), I'll make the bed once I get out of it.  Alternately, if The Dad finds himself still in our bed snoozing after I get out of bed, then he would make the bed.  Easy, huh?


The Dad, however, interprets this to mean that if I'm last one laying, I'll make the bed.  But if he's the last man sleeping, then I'll make the bed.

It's not a difficult chore - and if The Dad were a bachelor, he'd sleep with a bath towel draped over him on the recliner.  It's just a chore that The Dad doesn't deem necessary to his well-being.

It is very much a chore that I deem necessary to MY well-being, which is, in essence, his well-being as well.  Silly man.  So smart, yet not that quick.

Yesterday, after 14+ years of marriage, The Dad proved himself a smart man yet again.

When the library called and informed me that I had a book ready to be picked up.  I didn't know what it was, but I texted The Dad to go get it so I'd have it to read this evening.  School's almost out and it's time to start my summer-for-pleasure reading.  (When one is an English teacher, one often finds herself unable to read during the school year because she is always reading essays and required reading along with her middle school students)

About an hour later, The Dad texted back that he had my book AND he'd go pick up The Daughters so that I could go home, rest, relax and start reading.

How sweet of him.

I'll let you know how this turns out.
I'll skip the gory details, of course!

I raced home and retreated to our bedroom to change clothes.  I found the bed made (today was his first day of summer vacation and I was out of bed long before he was) ... and my borrowed copy of Fifty Shades of Grey on my pillow.  It's not his type of book, but he's heard be talk about it, and he's listened to NPR enough to know that he's fixing to be a lucky man.  Indeed a very lucky man, if the Nightline reports are accurate.

I married a smart, smart man.  And he now makes beds.  Before I read the sequel, I'm gonna teach him how to empty the dishwasher.