He laughs when dead bug dust falls on my face, delighted by my girlie outburst of disgust. Yet, he is not nearly as amused when the spider dribbles down its web, landing on his bicep. I smile as he squishes the bug with his bare hand.
We are high, perched on scaffolding, patching the deck ceiling.
My husband and I have a lengthy honey-do list we are working on together. Last weekend we tackled lumberjack duties. This weekend we repaired ill-fitting vinyl siding.
I'm unsure how many husbands enjoy their wives working side-by-side with them in the tool shed, but my husband seems to like my company. He makes hard, nasty work almost fun.
And he is patient. Yesterday he handed me a riveter and said, "This is your job, Rosie." And he showed me what to do with it. After I made several failed attempts with the tool, he climbed down from his wobbly walk board to my rescue.
Finally, at 7 p.m., with our back and shoulder muscles weary and our faces smudged in god-knows-what kind of bug feces, we sat in our rockers and admired our accomplishment.
Our place may not be fancy, but oh how I love shackin' up with that man.
(PS-The photo of this lovely homestead on Dutch Creek Rd in Valle Crucis Is Not our house. We should be so lucky.)
