The Things We Do For Love...

Remember that little ditty? Well, I was singing it to myself around 11 pm last night. I was exhausted and all ready to go to bed when my husband walked into the house. He had spent his evening preparing for the South of France's largest wine show. It starts today, and he's a notorious procrastinator. He came in searching for some last minute items he would need. One of them was a set of white tablecloths. Well, they're almost white, anyway. I've vowed to remedy that situation for him, if he brings at least one back to me tonight (he'll get a fresh white one in return). So, I, being the "organized one" around here... Don't laugh. I actually knew where the tablecloths were (as well as the photo paper he wanted). Anyway, I whipped out the whitish linens in question, and realized they could use a bit of ironing. Now, something you must know about me is that I hate ironing. Absolutely despise it. I do own an ironing board and iron, but their main purpose tends to be in preparation for sewing. They almost never get used on clothing. I guess I just don't care enough about our collective appearance get it all out and use it. So, you know I love this man, when he comes in at an ungodly hour, when I'm already exhausted, and I offer to iron for him. And, tablecloths are big. It's not like ironing underwear (which I'd never do in the first place, but you get the point). I even pressed his shirt and pants. What a loving wife, indeed.

As a little revenge (in advance), I played a little practical joke on him. It wasn't really on purpose, but the results sure were funny. Yesterday morning, as per his usual routine, he threw the hot water kettle on to boil and served himself some instant chicory coffee (breakfast of champions here in France and maybe for some Cajuns in the southern US). He, then, proceeded to pour in the milk, which instantly curdled. Confused (it was early, you know), he got out another bottle of milk (they sell those long-life ultrahigh temperature bottles that don't need refrigation, here, so we've got a good stock of them) and made himself a new coffee. Pour in the milk. Curdle. Weird. So, he changes cans of coffee and makes himself a third cup. The kettle is about empty now. So, when he pours its contents into his coffee bowl (it's a French thing to drink coffee in a bowl), he sees chunks of white calcium deposit floating in his bowl. This is about the time I stroll on in to sit with him. What does he say to me? "Hey, the next time you put vinegar in the hot water kettle to remove the calcium deposits, could you let me in on it? I'm on my third bowl of coffee" Oops. Yeah, I did that. We have really hard water, and it's necessary to do these things from time to time. I meant to mention it to him, but he hasn't been home much lately, and it slipped my mind.

I really wish I had set up a camera for that one, though. It would have been very entertaining, even if it was a complete accident.