The Other Night In Bed...

Last night Andrew and I were laying in bed talking. I had just gotten home from the farm, taken a well needed and well deserved shower and Andrew had some yummy homemade chicken with peanut sauce over brown rice waiting for me when I was dressed. The kids were bathed and in their beds, and we had taken our places in our own, he with his beer and me with my wine.
I was telling Andrew about how much I love the farm, and how grateful I was to have the opportunity to work there. Not every husband would, himself, work 40+ hours a week, and then agree to kiss his wife goodbye and give up EVERY Sunday evening while she milked goats and made cheese for fun.
I said to Andrew, "Remember when I worked at the vet clinic?"
"Which one?" he said.
"Georgetown Pike. And you'd come to visit me and hang out?" I said smiling, remembering. We were 21 years old when we met. We spent our entire "twenties" together, forming the people we are today, together.
"Yeah, and I pulled that Dalmatian out of the freezer after it got stuck to the side?"
I suppose he wasn't feeling as nostagically cheesy as I was, if that was his recollection! But yes, he did in fact pull a deceased dog from the freezer after it froze to the side and could not be dislodged by anyone other than a Varsity college swimmer.
I told Andrew that I was so happy to be married to him, and that I was pleased with our life, and that our measily little struggles don't affect how the "big picture" looks to me. Who cares if our cat perpetually shits on the rug when he's nervous? Right?
We paused and watched a little TV. Not two minutes had passed from our loving conversation about how pleased we are with our marriage and our lives, when I said...
"It's just not what I thought it would be."
A look of shock and horror crossed Andrew's face. He looked like someone had simultaneously punched him in the gut, slapped him in the face, and ran over his puppy.
"What did you say?" He asked.
"I said, 'it's just not what I thought it would be.' This cream for my nails...it's so greasy." I was talking, of course, about a new prescription my dermatologist gave me to soothe my nail beds after years of "nervous picking."
"I thought you were talking about our MARRIAGE!" Cried Andrew with both relief and ire.
"NO!!!" I laughed. "Feel this! It's gross!" I showed him my greasy hands.
"Don't touch me!" He laughed as well.
And thus, our night of love ended in an unusual way...with Andrew screaming, "Don't touch me." Now, THAT'S something I don't hear everyday