A Good Egg
I burned a pot of eggs the other day. Not just a little. In fact, so far removed were these eggs from my memory that only the sound of them shooting across the room in the kitchen would jar my attention.
How great was the carnage!
John followed me to see what all the hubbub was. He looked at the Picasso-like egg installation and then at me, then back to the eggs.
Half expecting him to say, “Luuuuuuuucccccccccy!”, rather he said, “I’m so sorry” and quickly went to work helping me clean up the mess.
That’s a simple enough story, but that’s my husband. He responds gently and then jumps into helping come what may.
Does he laugh at me sometimes? Absolutely. I laugh at MYSELF because, well…funny things happen.
But through these 31 years of marriage, I’ve always known that he’s for me, that he’s with me and that we’re a team not in competition. That’s a good thing.
I may be down several eggs and returning to the store, but they served as a good reminder that I, myself, have a good egg and his name is John. 💕
P.S. I full expect this story to be made into a Christmas Hallmark Movie. It’s as believable as some of the other storylines…