The Woes of Joe’s Toes

I recently purchased a plaque in honor of my Joe’s and 25th wedding anniversary. It’s hanging in between the His and Hers mirrors in our master bath.  It has a not-so-subtle message:

“You and I are pretty unusual:  I am pretty and you are unusual.”

So, needless to say, I’m living up to the “Princess” label Joe has assigned to me. (I’m ok with that, by the way–I enjoy flouncing, and I love to make an entrance).  But I’ve also given Joe the label of “Quirky”.

Take the issue of our mutual toes. Every morning, Joe and I execute the same ritual of sitting on the sofa drinking multiple cups of coffee and reading the paper, our bare feet propped up on the coffee table.  I have the princessly joy of viewing my cute red toenails, and Joe has the quirky responsibility to cover his up with the velvet throw.  Yes, Joe’s toes have woes, and woes that need a pedicure.

I have tried telling him that it’s ok for him to go to the nail salon with me.  After all they don’t call them MANicures for nothing!  They knew women would need a semantic term to convince their men that taking care of their hands and feet was important. But I’m not having much luck convincing him.  So for now, Joe’s toes remain covered in the morning.

He Hates to be Late
I’m beginning to suspect a conspiracy every time Joe and I have to go somewhere important. (Did I mention that I like to primp?) So as we plan on what time we’ll be leaving, my efficient husband gives the absolute time we need to be walking out the door.

Only he moves it up slyly as I’m getting ready, creating panic that I won’t have my mascara on, and will walk out the door with mismatched shoes and jewelry.  I wonder if he’s trying to drive me insane, like in the movie Gaslight with Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer:

“You told me 4:00pm, right?”

“No, darling, I said 3:00pm.  I’m sure of it – you heard me.”

“I must be going insane.  Okay, I’ll hurry.”

“You aren’t going insane, you’ve been insane for a while, dear.”

Needless to say, I’m usually “late”, but we get there on time, thanks to my husband’s shrewd scheming and Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride driving.  And a good time is had by all.

He Serves with Verve
As quirky as I say my husband is, here’s the upside… he has style. He keeps me laughing with his clever quips and sideways rewriting of current events. He rewrites lyrics to Broadway tunes off the top of his head and sings them to me.  We lie in bed laughing so hard sometimes that our son has gotten up to tell us to keep it down. And his writing and teaching have inspired me and many others to seek God’s best way.

Yes, I am pretty, and he is unusual.  Neither one of us is likely to change anytime soon–and I’m not at all sure that either one of us really wants the other to change. Well… maybe… maybe not. But for now, I’d have to say it’s a partnership that I thank God for, that I truly enjoy, and that I look forward to being in for many more joyful, and quirky, years.

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