Plastic Spoons

I've got this drawer at my office that has a few plastic spoons in it. Two plastic forks, one plastic knife and several plastic spoons. They're all sitting on napkins that are clean and waiting to be used.

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one in the world who does this sort of thing. You eat lunch at work, and sometimes you need a spoon or fork, and so you have a few that you keep in your office in case they don't give you a fork at the drive through.

I mention this drawer, though, because it makes me really happy every time I see it or think about it. I have spoons in this drawer because my wife sometimes forgets to put a spoon in my lunch when she packs it. She'll forget a knife and fork, too.

And I'm happy about my Plastic Spoon Drawer not because my wife forgets my utensils, but because I have her in my life. I'm the luckiest man on the planet because I get to be married to this woman! And on top of that, she seems to enjoy packing my lunch for me sometimes! If it were left up to me, I would buy a jar of peanuts from Wal-mart and eat those until they were gone, and then I would buy another jar. And my wife saw me doing this and wanted me to change. I told her that packing lunch like this was what worked for me, and if she had a suggestion as to how we could do it differently, I would listen to that, but until then, I would be packing a jar of peanuts. The next morning she packed my lunch.

What's impressive to me about all of that is just how perfect she is. She didn't nag me about how unhealthy I was being, or tell me I was being stupid. Both of those answers are common. "I'm married to this guy who doesn't take care of himself and that pisses me off enough to bitch about it, but that's as far as I go." Another common response is for the person with the problem to try to force the other person into a solution for something that they don't think is broken. "I'm going to get him out of bed early so that he can make his own lunch, because he doesn't think he's being unhealthy, but I know better." Another option would be to quit. "He's an idiot and I'm riding the Lawyer Train to Divorceville. Toodles, y'all!" But she didn't do that. She had a problem. And yes, it was a problem that she had with me. But the problem wasn't that I wouldn't go to the ballet with her or get her a fancy ring. She wanted me to take care of myself. Because she wants to spend more time with me. Because she likes me! So she's going to make sure that I stick around as long as possible.

She solved her problem.

And in the process of solving her problem, she made me feel really special. Really, really special.

Nobody has ever packed my lunch for me before other than, like, my mom when I was 4. Has anybody packed your lunch? Lunches that somebody else packs for you taste better. No, no that's not true. Lunches packed by your wife who loves you taste better. I've had some of those box lunches they give out at business meetings, and those things taste like Resentment and Mayonnaise. Yuck.

Wife lunches rule.

And I look at that drawer and remember some of the fun that I had trying to eat soup or spaghetti without utensils. The spaghetti was the most fun. I ended up folding the Tupperware lid into a kind of shovel, and then I scooped the spaghetti with the lid-shovel, and caught what I could with my tongue. Messy and funny.

And it makes me think of my wonderful wife. Messy and funny. And I wouldn't trade that memory for anything. And I wouldn't do that differently at all. Not one thing different.

She lets me be me. And she bes her with me. And her and me fit together like two pieces of a puzzle that nuzzle and snuggle fundle each other because I'm so giddy to have her around. She's so the dreamiest!