my husband, Laura

I have a husband, which will surprise some of you who know her. Sure, she has no penis, but I don't have breasts, so let's not quibble about all that.

Laura was home taking care of me last week -- MUCH more attentively than the average husband would do. But it's funny what she noticed. In an earlier post I mentioned that she was alarmed at how much flotsam and jetsam is carried by everyday household tides; the constant picking up that I do that goes unnoticed. This is not a complaint; I like to putter, and I automatically keep things picked up. The dishes are done, the compost goes out, the counter gets wiped, the mail gets sorted, the dog gets let in, let out, let in, let out, let in, let out, dots on the kitchen floor get picked up with a wet finger, flue gets shut, bills are paid. Yesterday she said, as she sorted the mail, which is generally distilled down to nothing by the time she gets home: "It's interesting, p. For 5 or 6 years, they stopped sending catalogs through the mail. And that must not have worked, marketing-wise. They must have found that people need to see the items. And so this year they are starting to send catalogs again."

Okay, this cluelessness doesn't make her a husband, not that being one is a bad thing by any means. I'm all for husbands, if that's what you have. Love whom you love, and love that person well. But there's more to this claim about Laura. I am thinking of the time I was weeping for the loss of a real husband, right around the time of my divorce back in the early 1990s. I was sobbing with remorse and anxiety. Laura tried to comfort me. "Waaah," I wailed. "When (sniff sob) when there was a scary sound in the middle of the night, he would get up to investigate it." "Oh!" Laura assured me. "I can do that. I would do that, absolutely!" she vowed. "Really?" I sniffed into my tissue, hoping this was true. "You would?" "Oh! Sure. Of course! I don't get afraid of sounds at night."

Then came the night, shortly thereafter, when I woke for a moment and simply said, with little real anxiety: "What was that?" I lay there for a moment, became convinced that it was nothing, and began to drift back to sleep. I hear Laura throw back the covers, STOMP across the bedroom floor and stomp into the bathroom. It crosses my mind that she might be annoyed that I woke her for nothing. I hear her pee, lots of pee. All that goes through my mind is that she must really have had to pee; now I don't feel so bad about waking her up. She STOMPS back to bed, climbs in, and whispers very softly into my ear, "It's okay. I just peed as loudly and as hard as I could so that if there is an intruder, he'll think there's a big man up here and he'll leave the house."

She has proven to be good for her word about the intruder thing. Sort of. She took on a noise not long ago, armed with her 12" round pillow, her weapon of choice. She will check things out if I am unsure. She will pee loudly, and so far it has worked every time.

My husband, Laura. I will write more about her sometime soon, as this is proving to be as therapeutic as writing about the cancer, the swelling (I am about up to a B cup, but it's 3 inches left of where a cup might be), the worsening fatigue. The only difference is that my female husband is probably going to be offended by my teasing. Everyone reading this: if she asks you, please make sure she knows she is the BEST husband evah.

(Unrelated post script/newsflash: Can't sleep, again. Turns out those two nights of good sleep were just exhaustion and lingering effects of the anesthesia. I am back to my usual crummy menopausal sleep. What a rip.)