THE PERFECT HUSBAND

Reality television is full of awful truths. People hoard things. Some folks just can’t stop eating. Bachelors and bachelorettes compete for roses or something. Survivors eat bugs and look for idols in the jungle. But there doesn’t seem to be a show about perfect spouses. I would like to see one like that. I daydream often about the kind of men who would be contestants on a program like that.

For instance, I would be in heaven married to a man who would think nothing of stopping to ask for directions. I would burn with desire for a man who, after a few hours on the road, would look around the car and ask, “Does anyone need to go to the bathroom or want to stretch their legs?”

I think that most women are attracted to good grooming. Unfortunately, well groomed men are scarce. Many men are unable to distinguish between dirty and clean clothing. They just put things on—a T shirt from behind the bed is handy, looks clean enough, and smells ok to them. And men don’t seem to find nasal hair objectionable. I am not sure that men even realize that they HAVE nasal hair.

Any man who thinks skinny women are unattractive is way up on the perfection list, in my book. My idea of the perfect compliment is for a man to say something like “Are you sure that you want to wear that dress? It makes you look sort of frail.”

Of course, any woman who is married to a chef or a plumber can be very smug, indeed. What I wouldn’t give to be able to ask “What’s for dinner?” every night. And I limp along, using Drano, even though it never seems to really do the trick. When our children were young, I often wished I had married a pediatrician. Now I envy the women who married plastic surgeons.

A perfect husband is one who can go to the grocery store with a list made out by his wife, and return home with the actual items listed, without the addition of beer and Cornuts. Champion husbands are also able to recite the difference between whole milk and skim, to recognize which cereals are loaded with sugar, and to purchase tampons without flinching.

I know. There is no such thing as perfection in anything or any one. But I also know that in order to grow and develop, one should always strive for the unattainable. In my case, if my husband began putting the toilet seat down, I would consider that real progress.

The perfect husband. Invariably, he is someone else’s.

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