I was at work today, talking with a co-worker. The subject of our conversation led me to think to myself, "Thank God I married a man." When I say this I don't mean I'm glad I married a man instead of a woman. I mean I'm glad I married a MAN instead of a man. Allow me to illustrate my point.
When faced with a large bug or small rodent, Danny doesn't hop onto the chair with me and shriek. He squashes it and rolls his eyes at my hysterics. While maybe chuckling a bit.
He can tend to our dog's health issues. He has nursed our pups back to good health after run-ins with vicious animals and other events that left them with angry looking wounds. Heck, he helped deliver Becky's puppies by c-section. Yes, dogs need c-sections too sometimes. I think he should've gone to vet school. I know what you're thinking..."If he's such a good doc then why do y'all spend so much time and money at the vet's?" And the answer is this: he doesn't have any meds, silly. No, you can't just buy them online. We thought about that.
When there is a problem with our vehicles, he doesn't take it directly to a repair shop so that they can charge us $600 to replace the brake harness. (Which even I know doesn't exist. It's a WIRING harness for your brakes when you tow something.) But some men aren't mechanically inclined and don't know this.
He can hunt and fish. (I feel like I should grunt and beat my chest here.) He can put meat up in our freezer to feed our family. And then (this is the good part) he can cook that meat. I don't know how to cook quail. He does.
When there is a problem with our garbage disposal (like this week), he doesn't hesitate to stick his hand into the black, unknown abyss to dig out the shards of the broken glass baby food jar. I know that deep down that's the last thing he wants to do but he knows that they aren't going to jump out on their own. Although I don't know why they don't jump out on their own...that's how the baby food jar got in there in the first place. Yes, that really happened.
He knows about firearms and how to work them. Not in a crazy, militia radical way, but in a way that he can protect his family and property. This makes me feel safe.
When the lid will not come off the jelly, he does not meekly grunt and groan while making feeble attempts to get it off. He gets in there and shows that lid who's boss. It may sound like a little thing, but those jelly jars are hostile.
If we were stranded with a broken down plane he could fix it. No questions, he's a good aircraft mechanic. If we were stranded like Lost we'd be pretty screwed. But he could take care of us while out there in the wild sci-fi jungle. He'd find a shelter, food to feed us, and ways to protect us. So maybe we wouldn't be that screwed.
When things break around the house, he fixes them. We don't do without an item while it's at the repair shop, he gets the parts and tools out and he fixes what's broken.
He can build stuff. He knows how to use hand tools and power tools to construct what needs buildin'. He can demolish stuff. He's tearing down our little patio fence now.
He knows about sports. Maybe I should say college football. Thank goodness he doesn't watch all of them and quote stats from 1947's world series game or insist on hanging women's field hockey memorabilia in the living room or scratch himself and belch every night of the week while watching "the Game." Thank goodness. I don't know that I could live with that. But he knows about and loves college football. That's plenty manly.
Danny is just the right amount of man. He isn't a macho, knuckle-dragging, poker night every week, cigars in the living room, womanizing asshole. Thank God. He doesn't insist on doing things that are outside the realm of his knowledge, capabilities, or what he is equipped to do. He knows when to call the professionals.
He is a self reliant and self sufficient kind of man. He doesn't depend on others to provide or maintain his family. His responsibilities are HIS responsibilities.
He is my kind of guy. Now I'm going to fix his meat and potatoes.
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