Marriage is a Bowl of Strawberries

“I'll eat the strawberries after you finish installing the bathroom sink,” I said to my husband when he asked me for the third time when I was going to eat the pint of strawberries I bought a couple of days ago.  Lee abhors throwing away food.  I mean, it really, really bugs him.  I smiled to myself after I said that.  Gotcha!  You won't be nagging me about the strawberries any more, I thought, not unless you want to open up the can of worms that is our bathroom remodel.  But Lee laughed - this guy is so on to me.  If I thought to manipulate him into finishing the sink on a weeknight, I'd have to do better than this pitiful tactic . . .

Then, as I sat down to dinner the next day, a bowl of strawberries appeared by my plate - washed, hulled and cut into bite-size pieces . . . and when I looked up, there was my husband, with a smug smile on his face . . . yup . . . he'd installed the sink . . . I looked at the strawberries, then at him again . . . so now I'm supposed to eat the strawberries, I guess . . . I'm mulling this over looking for the catch . . . I have a working sink . . . that's good . . . I have a bowl of delicious strawberries that I don't even have to wash . . . that's good, too . . . nope, I can't see the catch . . . either he is the sweetest man that ever was, doing this because it'll make me happy and also because he is just as anxious to be done with this project as I am . . . or he really hates the idea of watching the strawberries go bad . . . I'm pretty sure it's the former . . .

But we still need baseboard trim installed, so I'm not taking any chances . . . I'm going to the store tomorrow and buying another pint of strawberries . . . just in case . . .