1.16.2014

The Bag Men


It's funny how age and experience can bring a certain variety of wisdoms, I think. For example ...
- The neighbor's cat is just going to eat a few birds. There's no fighting nature.
- That whole 'You can't judge a book by its cover' thing - really true.
- People speeding wildly in their vehicles can be oh! so easily explained.
- It's just reasonable (and economical) to keep a few different sizes of jeans in your wardrobe.

And now I've come realize something new about  those men you sometimes see carrying the purseNot their own --- you can tell by the unwieldy handling. I must admit to some inward snickering and scoffing in the past, and yes, even to quietly pointing out the occasional sight of  a bag-bearing husband  for a quiet chuckle among friends. Especially that rare fellow who awkwardly shoulders his wife's purse, in order to have both hands free.
I have to say, I've tried to spare my husband this particular indignity 
among the many which I've managed to inflicted upon him - 
"Thanks, but I 'll carry that myself."  
Said too sharply, I know, because of the big ding that would put in my own pride. It just seems like a 
too-huge admission of weakness to not be able to carry my own purse, right up there with being 
unable to slip on my own socks.*  And Lord knows, I hang on to my (perceived) 'independence' 
pretty fiercely. He's still working with me on that.
*These seem like two of the most basic functions of everyday life. There are other, even more basic,
 of course, but I refuse to let myself even consider those for now.  

So recently, when My Wonderful Husband had to carry my bag to the house while I gripped his other arm, slowly making painful progress toward the house, the tenderness of his helpful gesture smacked me right in the face. "I can't believe you're carrying my purse..."  I managed to squeak, to which he began to swing it and sashay along, being careful to  not jar me too much. It was funny - he made it funny,  to diffuse my emotional response and defeat my pride.   "Not a big deal," he smiled, "Does it match my outfit?"  
I Can't Believe I'm Here is a refrain of my life, maybe of everyone's life,  and one that is sometimes accompanied by mournful tears. Now, laughing is generally better than crying, and we try to stick to that motto around here. But some moments pass by unLIVED if they are refused a recognition which may require tears, even tears mixed with laughter. Even though I can't believe it,  I am here, in a purse-surrendering-spot of life, and the bag-bearing husband is no longer an object of smirky amusement to me. 

He seems more like a hero, actually.


2 comments:

Mindy Whipple said...

Awww a hero indeed - and I love his comment, does it match my outfit? So blessed are we who have a spouse to share (and sometimes bear) life with.

the mama said...

He's such a treasure! And, I know a good treasure when I meet one!