This afternoon, BB and I were working on a broken laundry room door (long and almost completely irrelevant story). The thing was balanced precariously on our kitchen table as we struggled to slot its misplaced slats into their proper slat slots. (Sorry; couldn't resist.) BB was taking the lead, which made sense. I was his assistant.
But we nearly had a breakdown in the operation. Why? Because I, as is all too often my wont, got huffy when BB told me in no uncertain terms that we were going to handle the repair via method A, not my method B.
Well! I was insulted. Indeed, I felt quite, quite injured. He was being unfair, and bossy, and wasn't appreciating me, and ... oh, how I went on.
But BB didn't fight. Instead, he took some bellicose statement I'd made, and started riffing on it. Exaggerated it. Made of my snippy response something risible.
I couldn't help it; I started to laugh. And as I did so, a rather nasty weight lifted off me, the kind of weight that always settles on my heart when I get a chip on my shoulder, or a bug up my ass. I apologized for being such a twit. And we got back to working together, and got that door put back to rights. And BB had been spot on about what he'd told me, way back when I tried, and failed, to start a fight.
He's a good man, is my BB.
He has put up with me being huffy for 28 years. He's put up with me being fearful, and too concerned about what the world thinks of me. He's put up with my short temper, my self-absorption, my bossy nagging and my odd obsessions.
In return, he's given me his patience, his good humor, his refusal to fight, his intelligence, and his love.
What was it that Grant said about Sherman? "He keeps me sober, and I keep him sane."
BB and me? He keeps me human, and I do the same.
And I love him with all my heart.
Happy belated 28th anniversary, my love.