placed and measured. If something was out of place, he took off and tried to correct it. He felt the need to look perfect as well.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Things are either black or white for you, but the world can’t be unambiguous.” I put in his head persistently. Seeking out imperfections, correcting flews was his supreme joy.
“Ok, honey…” He said. Then, just 5 minutes later:
“The light bulb is burned out. Now they are not 3, but only 2”. And stuff like that.
One day he made a confession: “Honey, when we first started dating I used to spend hours writing and rewriting messages for you on my phone”. I rolled my eyes. I was much more down-to earth than my husband. I wasn’t an apple of his eyes but I was needed. For what? I was the only person who could stand him. I felt pressured because of his high expectations but continued to be with him. I loved.
“Look, our neighbor`s lawn wasn’t mowed. How can his wife let that outrage happen?”
Or another good one:
“Promise me that we will not go to this store. They mix mint gum with strawberry at the cash desk! It is horrible, isn’t it?”
He was obsessed with order, and also with security. So we used to reread medicinal recipes 5-6 times. Because of his allergy to peanuts, we asked about the ingredients of all the dishes we were served.
I had no choice but to accept his specific attitude to life. Nevertheless, it saved me one day. Before driving, he always forced me to fasten my seat belt. I sighed; desperately proving that in our small town there was no danger on the freeway.
(…)
I do not know how the bicyclist appeared on the road, he flashed like a comet. Sharply braking, I almost flew out of the car through the front window, but the safety belt worked. I came home with my legs shook.
“Oh, you are home, honey”. His cheerful voice greeted me. A minute later he added, looking at me with condemnation:
“Why have you unbuttoned the top button of the blouse, dear? You know, I hate this.”
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