My Husband is a Saint

To quote my Mom, anyways. But I do have to agree that he does have some saintlike qualities. Like today, when he got up a half-hour earlier than me, like he always does, even though it's his day off, just so he can have coffee ready and waiting, right by my head. And he makes it perfect. I know he would say that he really gets up early so he can be showered and ready before the kids get up, but I prefer to view it this way. I think most of what makes a marriage is this: simply choosing to view things in the most favorable way, seeing your partner in the best possible light.
Today after he had watched the kids for several hours, I came home, and he had lunch all ready. When I said I wanted to go swimsuit shopping, he cheerfully said, Sure! Even though he must know what a miserable trap he's walking into after all these years. So we pack up and head out to Sears, where he tries to entertain two very crabby kids for an entire hour (plus, really!) while I try on about seventeen slightly different sizes, styles, and shades of swimsuit, which to him, must surely look all the same. But to me, there must be some magical combination of tankini top and bikini bottom that will make me look fab and take away twenty some years of self-loathing! Maybe the coral floral top with the solid bottom will be more flattering. Maybe I need a darker color. Oh, hi, honey, how's it going, I've got it narrowed down to these two styles, but now I have to decide which color and print combo I want, and maybe, maybe, I just want to get a swimskirt. But then I feel that I have entered the perilous terrain of old lady attire. I do have the grandma arms to match. Finally, I emerge, sweating and defeated, but DETERMINED that I WILL LEAVE this store with a swimsuit to wear to the beach TODAY (no, I am not going to wash it first; I will simply rip off the hygenic liner and slap the suit on. I haven't caught anything yet...)!!!
So then I find Dave and the kids. He's looking a little bedraggled but is still being awfully pleasant. He helps me make my final decision, listening carefully and weighing the options, like we are actually deciding something here. We check out, get the kids in the car, who are now VERY crabby, and are driving down the road, when I realize the store clerk failed to remove the Anti-theft device (Warning: Do not attempt to remove this device. Ink and glass will explode!). So we go back to Sears, I run in, wait in line, and politely tell the clerk, in passive voice, that the tag was not removed from my suit. Then I thank her profusely, and practically apologize (sometimes I annoy even myself!).
I get home, try the suit on, decide it gives me ass fat and saddle bags where I swear there were none before! I literally feel that the suit shrunk two sizes on the way home. I immediately start tearing the armoire apart, telling Dave as I fling all of our stuff out on the floor, that we REALLY need to go through this and clean it out tomorrow. He watches me, and I vaguely wonder, for the thousandth time, what must he really be thinking? Can anyone truly have this bottomless reserve of patience?
I find two halves to the four swimsuits I now remember I already own. I am completely focused on finding the missing pieces to them now, convinced that there is no WAY, no HOW, that they could possibly make me look as much like Homer Simpson as that horrid suit from Sears did. Dave goes and looks in the garage, and finds them in the bottom of my handwash basket, still waiting to be handwashed from last summer. I inform him that we will go to the beach after I have handwashed and dried all of the swimsuits. I also tell him that I will be returning the swimsuit from Sears. He calmly replies, It's okay, I know it's a really big decision. And here's the thing, there's no hint of sarcasm in his voice! He understands, that to me, it is a big decision. So now we are hanging out here at the house, waiting for the suits to dry. God, I hope one of them fits me.
My husband is a saint.