My Husband Finds My Imperfections Lovable

A couple of days ago, I tried to call my husband to come and pick me up from the train station. I have a pretty hefty commute from where I work in the city out to where I live. All told, it takes about an hour and a half. By the time I get to my home station, it's dark, and now that it's full-on autumn in Melbourne, it's quite cold too. I had worked all day and then gone to the gym because I'm awesome like that, so I was pretty tired. These are my excuses.

I texted said husband about 15 minutes before arriving at the station to let him know I was close (and silently nudge him to leave the house and be on his way). I arrived at the station only to realize that there are two massive parking lots and I had no idea which one he would be in. We've only lived in our new house for a week (with no internet yet, hence why I'm blogging this on my lunch break), so I didn't really have the lay of the land yet.

Anyway. So I called him. The second my phone dialed, it beeped very loudly. Sometimes it does weird things like that. So I said a few grumbly words and tried again. Same thing: no ring, no answering machine message, just a super loud annoying beep. Cue a few more grumbly words and another text that said "Are you in the car park" (that's Aussie for parking lot), which we all know really meant "Where the hell are you". No question mark because question marks are nice and I didn't feel nice.

Don't you wish I were your wife?

I called again. I got the loud beep again. I said a lot more words this time, mostly angry words directed at my phone, because we all know this beautiful hunk of technology often does a lot of other things way better than actually making phone calls anymore.

One final call, one final beep, and I was ready to storm home on my aching legs and throw my iPhone in the street on the way. And then my husband called.

He had been on the phone with someone trying to work out why our internet wasn't working. This has been bugging both of us for days, because you don't realize how much of a drug-like-dependency you have on social media until you use up all the data on your phone in about a week because you have no internet. Sigh.

So he's on his way and I'm still grumbling and kicking at stones on the sidewalk because all the other ladies who were waiting to be picked up have long-since left and are probably at home in a bath drinking wine at the moment. Jerks.

Fast forward twenty minutes. We're at home and I'm starting dinner and not at all annoyed anymore now that I'm warm and realize I was being totally unreasonable. That's when I look up and see my husband with his phone to his ear, and an I-feel-sorry-for-you expression on his face as he looks at me. He comes over and gives me a huge hug, and I'm like thanks but why?

"You left me four messages."

And then he turned on the speaker phone.

In all my ragey, sweary, cranky glory -- there's my voice. Whisper-yelling at the phone. Whisper-yelling at the passing cars (I'm pretty sure I said "You're not my husband" to about twenty of them). All of those beeps had not been astronomical screw-ups on the part of my phone. They had in fact been my phone calls going directly to his voicemail.

And instead of being annoyed with me, or looking down at me for being upset over something as stupid as me thinking my phone wasn't working, he came over and hugged me and said he was sorry for making me wait even though it wasn't his fault at all.

I always wanted a husband who thought my imperfections were lovable. Only took 26 years to find him (to be honest, the first 10 were pretty easy).