Capture 43 unique observations about my sweetheart man

It’s been a while since I wrote an entry on this goal, and I thought it was well time I did.

31. My sweetheart man roughed up a saleslady at Sephora.

Today, my sweetheart man and I had a leisurely Labor Day holiday. We slept late and had a 2-hour, five-course lunch with all the trimmings. Then, he asked what I wanted to do and I told him: I wanted to pick up this item at Sephora.

For those of you who don’t know that store, Sephora is a very uppity albeit well-stocked beauty store. They have a lot of brands, tools and products. They also have a seething arrogance that is only bested by Ulta.

My sweetheart man good-naturedly agreed and routed us directly to the nearest location. He offered to let me off at the door, but instead I insisted on walking through the parking lot and escorting him into the store. I did this for two reasons: 1) because I like spending time walking with him and 2) I didn’t want him walking into Sephora by himself and getting attacked by coiffed harpies.

My guy has gone to Sephora on infrequent occasion to pick up an item or two for me, and he has regaled me with tales ranging from neglect to outright contempt. He is a rooster in an agitated hen house, a male with an estrogen target on his backside, and not in a good way! He gets treated shoddily or just downright mean, and that really offends me to no end.

However, this store is the only one locally who carries the product in question that I needed wanted. So in we went, with me trying to keep an open mind and conduct myself in a behaviorally neutral manner.

I saw a saleslady that I had worked with just last week, and she remembered me. I told her that I was here to buy the product that she gave me a sample to try. The bottles are quite similar in this line, same price and same shape, size and volume. Only the description in little print is different to identify a cream leave-in conditioner from a styling cream.

I explained, “I’m trying to remember which one I got vs. which one I want. They were both in that bottle for X price.”

“Aren’t those two bottles the same?” inquired my sweetheart man.

“Oh, don’t let HIM get involved, he’ll only confuse things and get it wrong!”

I was shocked, and now I was the one confused. This saleslady was not a best buddy, this was an individual with whom I had one or two conversations in my lifetime. This was not a dear friend or eccentric relative, for which I would be obligated to make allowances.

I said, “Excuse me?” I was hoping I had just imagined her previous excited utterance.

“I said, HE’LL just MESS it up! Why don’t you go stand over there,” as she gestured my man to a nearby corner.

In retrospect, I should have turned on my heel and walked out. Maybe I should have upset the proverbial apple cart and pelted her with fruit. I was too stunned to think of these things at the time.

Instead, I said to my sweetheart man, “Should we just go? I can put this back and we can just go.” Like the true gentleman he is, my sweetheart man not only insisted we stay steadfast, but he played along.

He tried to reach out and retrieve a bottle for me, which greatly upset the saleslady. You would have thought these bottles were made of Irish crystal instead of sturdy plastic—nevertheless, I wasn’t sure if my man was trying to get a rise out of her by approaching the coveted casks.

He determinedly ignored the huffing and puffing of the saleslady and asked me, “What does this do?” in a plaintive voice. “This is part of a system, isn’t it?”

As an aside, he tries so hard to understand, and at Aveda they harp on products within systems as if each Advisor had their own engineering degree.

“I’ll explain it in the car, let’s go,” I said to my darling man. I wanted to quickly slink out of there and make our way to the cashier, pay and leave.

My sweetheart man insisted on taking his time, thanking the horrid saleslady for her attention and concern. He touched every display on the way to the cash wrap, encouraging me to do the same. He asked, “Are you SURE you don’t wish for anything else, dear?”

When I declined, wordlessly, he gallantly presented the item to the cashier with a flourish as if it was the Hope diamond or at least a one-of-a-kind treasure, fit for a princess. He took the impossibly small shopping bag from me to carry, as if he was transferring a great weight to his sturdy shoulders to spare me. He escorted me to the exit and held the door, even holding it for two other ladies exiting the shop who stuttered a surprised “thank you” before resuming their conversation. Then, and only then, we left the premises.

I ask you, gentle readers, what would you have done?

Made a scene?

Return the product in protest?

Go back and harass the saleslady daily until she quits or drops from exhaustion?

Something else?

30. How to stay interesting without being too interesting

It’s very interesting having my sweetheart man around on a daily basis.

Ever notice how when people say something is interesting, the spoken tone is so VERY important?!

Innnnnnnnnnnnnnnnteresting!

In-Ter-EST-ing!

Interesting??

Eyebrow raised in silence!?

It is vital to be aware of one’s tone when speaking with a loved one.

Always.

Even in anger, frustration, joy, delight—always.

Careless words can leave drive nails into someone’s fence. Holes remain, even when the nails are removed. I can see from others’ failed marriages, these holes can weaken and eventually shatter even the strongest broadboard into splinters.

My man and I share bathrooms, colds, disagrements about how often to visit the grocery store, but rarely an angry word.

We are easy on fences.

And each other.

This is the best way to stay interesting, without being too Innnnnnnnnteresting!, if you know what I mean?!

;-)

I have mentioned that I am one of those elusive “mystery shoppers”, for over 20+ years and still going strong.

For the 2+ years I have been dating my sweetheart man, he has patiently and lovingly soothed me when my frustrations with unclear shopping instructions or difficult assignments merit my ire.

29. Revenge is a dish best served cold, in a chilled salad bowl as part of a 3-course dinner shop.

A while back, my sweetheart man decided to get his certification training to become a mystery shopper. He said he wanted to do this in order to better understand “what it is I do” and how he can help. He didn’t start completing his own assignments until very recently.

I do admit, he has been a marvelous resource over the years, as both a dining / entertainment companion as well as a backup note taker. When a shop assignment is mine to complete, so are the lengthy reports.

My smiling sweetheart, my docile prince, my lovely gentleman, is a ball of irritation tonight. I can hear him angrily pecking at his computer and muttering under his breath. He is perturbed by what, you may ask?

All the aspects of shopping I’ve complained about to HIM for the past two years!

Don’t get me wrong, I love this pastime of mine, but sometimes it gets challenging to meet the deadlines and demands of the assignments. It can be infuriating to then be met with sweet, soothing words that downplay my legitimate feelings of frustration.

However, the best revenge is letting him have a little taste for himself, with him being the responsible party for doing the report for his very own shop assignment tonight.

I stand at the ready, helping to recall details when asked, because I love this man. Otherwise, I sit at my own computer, relishing the truth that my meal is over and so is my HOMEWORK!

Tonight, a particularly trying conversation has prompted this post.

28. My sweetheart man can be unintentionally albeit eminently frustrating.

We have a task to complete, the rewriting of his work resume. This is not a difficult job for me to assist, since I used to professionally compose resumes at an executive management firm. I am accustomed to proper phrasing, formatting and presentation of words and accomplishments.

However, tonight I want to drink, or at least poke something with a sharp stick!

While interviewing my sweetheart man over the phone since he is currently out of town (and thus out of reach of my stick!), he rambles, avoids, and does not answer my direct questions.

His instant messages contradict the simultaneous telephone discussion that he is streaming in my ears as I am trying to keep up with dual modes of conversation.

I plead with him to slow down, to choose one mode or the other, and to then just take a break to organize his thoughts. This prompts him to speed UP his pace, not decrease it.

I have reached my limit.

I want to poke him with a stick.

But he’s not here.

And I love him.

I choose to!

Color me frustrated!

One of my sweetheart man’s most remarkable traits is detailed below.

27. My sweetheart man can drive although he suffers from temporary blindness.

Last weekend, my sweetheart man and I took turns at driving. We went everywhere, exploring and talking, enjoying each other’s company.

As we were driving past a certain road, I spied a series of signs propped up along the side of the road, one after the other. To be exact, there were 11 signs in the series, advertising a well-known jewelry store that was going out of business.

He and I were having one of our infamous weekend conversations that went along the lines of:

What do you want to do?

I don’t know, what do you want to do?

I want to do whatever you want to do, what would that be, dear?

At this moment, I spied the series of signs about the jewelry store. I know that my guy appreciates fine jewelry as do I, and we love to shop for it and compare prices.

_{He has also been hinting about wanting to know my ring preferences, as if I don’t know what THAT means?!}

We could go to Friedman’s in the mall right here. I hear they’re having a huge going out of business sale, I suggest, as we are parked in traffic next to this stream of signs along the side of the road.

He is looking out the window steadily in the same direction as the signs.

Oh really? I had not heard that, he remarks.

I take his reaction as coyness, and so I continue in this vein.

Oh yes, humongous sale, 75% off. Once in a lifetime, sounds like to me, what do you think?

Huh, he responds. I hadn’t heard any authority on that, he says, as if he doubts my truthfulness. His eyes don’t veer away from the signs that are curbside right beside our car that is stuck in traffic.

Then, traffic clears, and I fall silent. I am annoyed at him and bite my lip. A lot of unpleasant thoughts are swirling around in my head, but thankfully I have learned that in life, as in love, it is better to speak slowly and forgive quickly.

Eventually, we got this potentially disastrous misunderstanding worked out before unpleasantries became verbally exchanged.

My conclusion? My sweetheart man functions remarkably well in a sighted society, considering that he suffers from unpredictable temporary blindness!

I had a realization today about my sweetheart man that bears sharing.

26. My sweetheart man won a free house on a bet.

I used to live by myself, and I fancied myself an independent woman in every way. I bought my beautiful home with its wide-open spaces and empty rooms, as palettes waiting for inspiration to color them.

Shortly afterward, I met a man who broke my breaking heart, leaving me to feel as if I would never love again. This man who used to be so important to me now hardly bears mentioning, except in this regard—without him, I wouldn’t have made the dearest friend of perhaps my entire life.

Let me tell you more about this friend. He is what defines the word “dear” to me. I told him how I felt about feeling unloved and loveless inside.

I bet that will change over time, he said.

We’ll see, I conceded, not wanting to be impolite to my then-new friend.

Several months later, enter stage left – my sweetheart man appears in my life. As if by magic, my then-new friend became this dear friend, and then a loved one. Little did I know he had even more diabolical plans….

His progress was slow and stealthy; it all started with the ubiquitous “extra suitcase”. He thought I should have one handy in case I ever needed to travel. (My travel bag fell apart, literally, as soon as I unpacked it in my new home. The wheels actually came off as if in protest!)

Then, he started bringing tools and leaving them here. Recently, I found one of my deep precious drawers in the guest bathroom that was carefully lined with pretty shelf paper now holds drills, brackets, glue and other gizmos I know not their purposes.

Later, I found that he had taken over most of one of the bedrooms and renamed it, calling it “the library”.

I want to make this a library for you. For us.

I happened to get lucky and obtain a mystery shop that allowed me to get reimbursed for 3 gallons of paint, plenty of coverage to repaint a room.

What room to paint?

What about the library? he suggests.

I agree, of course. The library.

_{long pause}

Which room is that again, dear?!

Later, I found that when I would take naps in his presence, piles of my stuff would disappear and get relegated elsewhere. Often, these precious pieces would re-materialize down in the basement. He built shelves and stacked items upon them in logical groups, totally wrecking my previous system of plundering chaos.

He mowed grass and pulled weeds. He rescued a wild iris that grew from a random seed and sprouted from a crack in my sidewalk. He uncovered a large patch of wildflowers struggling to live, right beneath my bedroom window.

Did you know that violets are growing wild right here?! he showed me.

He ran loads of laundry, thus inventing a new clothing item that I affectionately call a “sweater-kini” – the result of putting a wool sweater in the dryer on high heat for 60 minutes. The sleeves stay long but the length shrinks to bikini-level revelations.

His rare books sit in my china cabinet, protected from cats and other calamities. His socks and underwear entwine through mine in the hamper, like lovers holding hands.

In sum, he has moved in – we are doing what I said I wouldn’t do, living together before marriage. With each visit, he leaves more of his spiritual DNA at my address. He tends and fixes and repairs and builds, fences and dreams—flowers and a future.

He is what makes this house a home.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way!

In another entry, I wrote about my recent personality testing results.

25. He’s only happy when we buck the odds and win.

My personality type is a ISFP

His personality type? The exact opposite of course: ENTJ

_{Of course, he had to be the exact opposite of me in every dimension, proving that despite this, I love him to bits!}

gwimphs!

Lately, I’ve been focused on current events that are pointing to a food crisis worldwide. It saddens me in the deepest parts of me that there are people rioting in the streets over the prices of rice and other grains. Today, I decided to have a chat with my sweetheart man about this topic, when at the same time I got a sales email from an online retailer who is running a big grocery sale. These are the events that ensued, as best as I can recollect:

24. I drowned my sweetheart man until he succumbed to a watery abyss.

I thought it best to have a discussion with my guy to figure out what to stock up on this grocery sale, especially since one of his childhood favorites were included in the sale.

I should preface, that I am quite accustomed to doing what I call, “retail math”. Take the price, subtract 15%, subtract 20%, compare whether that is better or worse than applying a $10 instant rebate, because both offers cannot be stacked. Make this calculation in real-time because the competition against time, resources and the wolf at the door is deafening to me.

When I was back in Florida, post-storm, I could easily spend hours each day scouting for food, water, gas, and/or cooking fuel. These evaluations were made during instants as money changed hands at the backs of trucks, or wherever supplies could be had, as the case may be. I learned to think fast on my feet and how to assess the merits and weaknesses of a deal more quickly than the seller betting against me.

Unfortunately, I forget that this can be overwhelming to someone who has not had to do this for their supper, much less for months/years on end.

Honey, slow down. I’m looking it up on the other place, to compare the price.

Oh, ok honey, but then you have to factor in the 15% on top of the 20%, but subtract the 15% first, did you do that?

No, honey, you’re going faster than I am. I’m trying to keep up, dear.

I’m sorry, babe. I’ll slow down….

Then, apparently I did not slow down but instead sped up. This degenerated into a conversation that was peppered with phrases such as:

I guess I’m not giving you the data fast enough, I’m sorry, with a tinge of bitterness.

Sorry? Not fast enough? Who said that? I asked.

You did, because you just kept speeding up. Ach, I need to lay down!

I hear a ker-flump and a long-suffering sigh. I wait and listen for more signs of life.

I love you, dear, a very tired and headachy-sounding boyfriend utters through the phone line to me.

All I hear is:

Tilt?!

Glug, glugggg!

Apparently, I drowned him in oatmeal … visiting hours are restricted whilst he makes a tenuous recovery….

_{sorry dear!}

This is too good a story to pass up on a chance to regale my gentle readers with the surfeit of wonderfulness that is my guy!

23. My sweetheart man has said each and every one of these phrases, unprompted, in the popular My Perfect Guy Talking Picture Frame gift.

This novelty item can be found on ebay and other places. It is essentially a plastic picture frame with a button that when pressed, utters various supportive phrases.

I received my item as an abandoned Christmas gift at the holiday office party. An analyst had received this gift and felt such disdain for it, that he did not even pluck out the $5 bill inside. I offered to trade him my $15 grocery store gift card for his item, since he clearly did not like it and I thought it was funny. He insisted on giving me the picture frame, and I had to argue with him to at least take the $5 cash for himself.

Once I took this item home and shared its features with my sweetheart man, we couldn’t stop laughing! He has said every one of those things, almost word for word, with no prompting from me. He is especially fond of saying numbers 2, 3, 6 and 10 from the list below:

1. “Don’t worry about it, honey. That’s why we have credit cards!”

2. “Don’t you even think about rushing, you just finish shopping, and I’ll be fine over here.”

3. “You shouldn’t be cleaning that. Let’s hire a maid!”

4. “That diamond is just not big enough for you!”

5. “I can watch football any time. I’d rather take you shopping.”

6. “No, you take the remote. Anything you want to watch is OK with me!”

7. “Everything looks great on you, honey—just buy them both!”

8. “I would love to watch that chick flick with you. I’ll bring the Kleenex.”

9. “Sweetheart, I think you need some more jewelry!”

10. “Honey, is it OK if I make dinner tonight?”

Upon request, here is another entry toward completing this goal. I try to space out these entries as to make them more special, and not just jot down any silly thing. I want these to count, because this sweetheart man of mine means everything to me.

Without further delay – the story unfolds!

22. My sweetheart man did not give me pink panties, but instead gave me silk peonies for my birthday today!

I am a very lucky girl; I have a cherishing sweetheart man who has learned from past episodes of forgetfulness. He takes the occasions for celebration that matter to me as important events, and he marks them with modest presents. He covers his bases well; he will send a small gift to each location – home and work – so wherever I go, I will be gifted!

Today, my birthday, was no exception. I received my long-distance gift early this morning, at 12:02 AM to be exact. Then, I received another when I awoke after 07:00 AM, and I thought I would be done for a while. I was happily mistaken when a package arrived at my office.

This was a nondescript and tightly wrapped package from a well-known national florist company. I cringed in dread.

You see, I am highly allergic to flowers. I also have a sad tradition of getting a birthday cold, and this year is no exception. The last thing I needed was an allergic attack on top of a budding head cold, but, this was a gift that deserved my gratitude no matter how miserable it might make me.

I struggled with dull scissors to open the box and carefully unwrap its contents. All the while, I am frantically looking for a card and finding none. I’m also trying to hurry AND hold my breath, no small feat, through my congested and sniffling nose.

The package is unwrapped, the gift card is found, and the poem inside it alights my eyes and softens my heart. I then rest my eyes on this picture—my birthday peonies. They are pure silk, and there is even the illusion of a wave of clear water in the elegant crystal vase. They are beautiful to view and safe to breathe, yay on both counts!

I am delighted!

Unfortunately, I also have to compose myself for an upcoming meeting.

Fortunately, it is my birthday and I also have bragging rights!

I tell one of my male coworkers on the telephone, through my slightly congested nose, that my sweetheart man got me pink peonies for my birthday. I describe that they are pure silk so I won’t be allergic, and how excited I am. He sounds totally nonplussed, so I repeat the details, embellishing as I go. He now seems withdrawn and uncomfortable, and my sensitive feelings are reeling.

What would be so offensive about flowers? Why, why, what?

I grope for an explanation, carefully.

I then hear him exhale loudly in relief.

Wheewwwwwww! You scared me, I didn’t know what to say. I thought you said your boyfriend got you pure silk panties in pink. Then you repeated it, and I didn’t know what to say—wow, that was UN-COM-fortable! he pronounces in separate syllables.

Apparently, I am also developing a regional twang with my cold, and add to the variable mix the speakerphone diffusion and we get …

pure silk panties from silk pink peonies!

_{I sent him a picture via email to clear up any future misunderstandings on this topic!}