Ironing brings 'date' to early end

My husband is a good man.

He's a hard worker. He is as compassionate and caring as the average straight male can be in today's society. And he looks so good, many people suspect he's actually a younger man I'm seeing on the side.

Most importantly, he puts up with this column and all the rest of my lunacy.

But the fact is, the romance can go out of a marriage if both parties aren't careful. You go from leaving little love notes in hidden places to leaving voice memos on the answering machine. ("For heaven's sake, would you puh-leese pick up the dry cleaning before it's sold at cost?") You go from whispering "I love you" as you depart from your sleeping lover to commanding him to take out the garbage before the EPA declares the kitchen a Superfund site.

And he goes from helping you take your coat off to letting you struggle with it while he focuses his attention on NASCAR. Or, for your anniversary, he gives you some sort of kitchen implement with the explanation, "I saw it and thought of you."

It's like a friend of mine whose job took him away from his wife for a couple months. When they were back under the same roof, I suggested she would appreciate him so much more, she'd be waiting for him every evening in a negligee.

"Probably not," he said. "But I'll bet she'll have my laundry done."

Of course, those two love each other dearly. But after 20 years and a couple of kids, sometimes the laundry becomes the most practical way to express that affection.

After only seven years and no kids, I'm not ready to go down without a fight.

The Other Half and I spent another somewhat sickening evening with my friend, Deidre, and her husband. She explained how she made his birthday special by serving him eggs Benedict in bed, letting him watch professional sports all day without interruption and then taking him out for dinner and dancing.

I really can't remember Mr. Half's birthday, but I think it involved propping up a greeting card on the back of the toilet so he'd be sure to see it when he woke up.

Inspired by Deidre, I made a date with my husband for Sunday night. We planned a nice dinner at an expensive restaurant and then a movie. I put on perfume, fixed my hair (to the extent possible with only two inches of it) and wore my exciting new sandals.

The first setback came as I stood expectantly by the car as Mr. Half got in on the driver's side.

"Oh, sorry," he said, reaching over to unlock my door so I could get in.

We arrived at the restaurant, got an excellent table and enjoyed some of the most exquisite cuisine Cape Girardeau has to offer.

But then something bizarre happened: I started sabotaging my own date.

"Hey, would you mind if we skipped the movie?" I asked. "We have to buy groceries, and I've still got a lot of ironing to do."

Groceries and ironing? Where did that come from? If I weren't married, would I end a date with a great guy early so I could iron a couple pairs of pants? Would I even care about pants?

In all fairness, we didn't have any milk in the house. And if I don't iron, I end up wearing the same five polyester-based outfits my co-workers have come to know so well. But still!

Mr. Half looked confused but was agreeable. We went grocery shopping, I ironed and we bought a pay-per-view movie.

At about 1 a.m., we collapsed into bed, my back killing me from hunching over that stupid ironing board.

Maybe there's some sort of class for the romance impaired. I can see the teacher now: "No, Heidi. You don't scream, 'Breakfast's ready!' while standing at the bottom of the stairs. You bring the tray up to your husband."

But unless I act now, groceries and a pay-per-view will be as good as it gets.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.