It’s the little things

So I was having a think this morning over a mug of tea (cue fanfare and loud comments of “oh no not again”). I hooked up with my best friend this week for a chai and a chat as she having multiple marital issues. In a nutshell, plenty of money, gorgeous offspring but a total ratbag of a husband. We were sitting on her patio overlooking her newly renovated home with everything material that your heart could desire and she turned to me and said “I’m so very unhappy”. There are various good reasons why she can’t leave his podgy backside and make a new life for herself but that’s for another session, enough material for a book and a movie series.

This whole convoluted cornucopia was the source of my early ruminations. DH and I live in a very old house, it’s a reasonable size mind you (especially for two) but it’s well worn. There’s a lot of DIY work that needs doing and the job jar remains alarmingly bulbous despite everybody’s best efforts during the odd spare 5 minutes grabbed at the weekend. On some days it irks me to the point of despair but on most days I don’t even give it a second thought. You might wonder why, given my type A personality (if I have it correct type A people are those who like everything just so, well-ordered and neat and tidy – if not type A then whatever letter goes with those characteristics, also known as pain in the behind by some.) Well you see, it’s because of those darn little things:-

–          When I get home from work and my husband greets me with a loving warm smile, every day.

–          When we’re at a function and his eyes will find mine from wherever, just to check in.

–          Because he knows that, no matter how upset or miserable I might be, a cup of tea will always cheer me up.

–          Because he respects me and my opinion and we talk, a lot (I think the talking is more a result of us having been together for a goodly while than a natural thing but whatever).

Don’t get me wrong, this is not an all out love fest and there are days when he irritates me so much that if I owned a pair of Jimmy Choos I would be sorely tempted to crack him over the head. On the whole though, when compared to a freshly laid floor, the little things win every time.