Patrick is one of those exercise people. And? One of those morning people. Which means that several mornings a week, he kisses me as I drool and snore (yes… I do both of those things but not NEAR as badly as I used to, thank you very much) and leaves to go run a few miles at the gym.

This baffles me to no end. Yes. Exercise… good. No argument there. But in the MORNING? Before work? ON PURPOSE? When there is still an hour before Good Morning America and Robin Roberts and Josh Elliot and their kicky matching hair and general all-around NICE-ness? I’m sorry. I cannot be expected to start my day without the required dose of those two.

Because he is also the responsible one in our world and I generally fail at thinking about anything before 8 AM beyond if my shoes match (each other) and did I brush my teeth or just put toothpaste on the toothbrush and then walk away, I also frequently forget… well… everything in the morning. Patrick, however, is almost always coherent enough in the morning to make a perfectly sensible lunch for himself. (Yesterday? I grabbed a piece of cheese and, I think, a tub of what I thought was leftover lasagna but actually turned out to be red buttercream frosting.)

The previous day, in a fit of rare productivity and planning, I’d gone to the grocery store after work to get things for lunches and dinner. I started at the deli and, in the interest of not waiting in line and stabbing someone in the neck, I placed my order and proceeded to do the rest of my grocery shopping with the intention of coming back and picking up the turkey and roast beef and cheese.

Ha! Hahaha! HAHAHAHAHA! Never do that. It doesn’t work. You forget it and then you remember you forgot it as soon as you pull in the driveway and instead of greeting someone with “Hi! I’m home!” You end up with something along the lines of “Cocksucker motherfucker why can’t you just be as irresponsible as I am?” and then it just gets ugly. Because he was just mowing the yard so it didn’t look like the house was abandoned. GEEZ!

But actually because your husband is so lovely and kind and understanding he’s all… no worries! It happens! Have some wine! I’ll just pick up sandwich stuff at the store after I go to the gym in the morning!

Which he absolutely did. And so the next day as you are fixing dinner and he comes in and unloads his morning grocery bags (which he responsible stored in the fridge at work all day unlike someone who would probably have forgotten them until noon when they had no doubt melted and oozed into some sort of toxic Kentucky hot brown) it is only then you also realize those bags contain a fair amount of beer…

“Um… Patrick? Were you the guy in the grocery store buying beer at seven o’clock in the morning?”

“Yes. I was. And YOU married me.”

Oh thank god. I feel so much better about my life now.