My dear husband is almost perfect. He certainly is perfect for me. No, he doesn't say the romantic things that I dreamed my husband would say. Nor does he do overtly romantic things that my dream husband would do. But, he would wear cologne that he thinks smells like bug spray, just because I like it. And he will run to the store, just to get me something I am craving, or an ingredient I am missing, regardless of the weather or what he was in the middle of doing.
The only thing my husband isn't is irish. The poor man is german and polish. German and polish! When I told my Dad, with some fear and trepidation, that my fiance was not irish there was a
L O N G pause after which he said, "Well. I guess that's ok".
For the rest of you who are not fortunate enough to be irish:
May the good saints protect you
And bless you today
And may troubles ignore you
Each step of the way
Snatching failure from the jaws of mediocrity
3 months ago