My husband was blessed with a lot of things. He has a wonderful personality. He’s good looking. He’s a good provider and a hard worker. Those are all great qualities, but there is one quality that he was not blessed with, and that is tact. The absence of tact has come up from time to time in our marriage. However, there are usually long breaks between each tactless episode so that I almost forget to be afraid.
Segue into date night with our friends a couple of weeks ago. Brantley was working until six o’clock that evening so I rode with our friends. As we waited on the interstate off ramp for the red light to change we saw Brantley up ahead. He was on the highway waiting for the same light. The top was down on his convertible and he was looking cool in his shades. We honked and waved to him, and when he saw us, a big smile came across his face. Ice ran through my veins. I had seen that evil smile before. He knew all of our eyes were on him and I could feel that something bad was about to happen.
Before I could even speak, Brantley sat up as straight and tall as he could. I cringed as he raised to giant middle fingers into the air, and slowly began to drive (hands free). I could see drivers in front and behind him looking at each other in a “What’s this guys problem?” sort of fashion. A few moments later, he lowered his giant hands and drove away. “Wow,” I said to my friends. “We’re meeting that guy for dinner.”
He’s been on his best behavior since that incident, but I know better than to get comfortable. Just when I begin to think that I have the most perfect husband, I turn around and see him mowing the lawn as he shuffles his feet with his pants around his ankles to make the neighbors laugh. That ladies and gentlemen, is my little piece of heaven.