This is going to be a little strange and I have a feeling my fingers might try to recoil from the keyboard, but today, instead of my usual Henry emasculation session, I’m going to reflect on all the things he’s done this week that were nice (read: obedient). Because if there is one thing I was cruelly reminded of this week, a little appreciation goes a long way.
1. Diligent Greeting Card Partner
For some reason, we’ve been selling an unusually large amount of our serial killer valentines, pretty much right after I had a mini temper tantrum about how we weren’t selling anything and I felt like an asshole every time I made feeble attempts to promote them on Facebook. I HATE being pushy about things. Anyway, things picked up for us out of nowhere and Henry has been working hard to make sure orders get filled at a speedy pace. (I sort of help—I handle all the customer service shit because I spell better and am just more personable via typed correspondence in general than Mr. Types Like a Caveman Talks.) Yesterday, I put on England Dan & John Ford Coley (I know, right) and kept him company while he slaved away with his precious paper cutter and printer that I still don’t know how to use, but then he was all, “While you’re sitting there…” and made me start packaging orders, then had the audacity to tell me I wasn’t sealing the cellophane card protectors properly, WTF!?
Wait, this was supposed to be about how nice Henry has been this week. Shit.
2. The Couple that Works Out Together Kills Each Other
You know how I’ve been on this mortality kick since last week? No? Well, now you do. One of the things that I’ve been internalizing is the gnawing notion that Henry won’t always be around. I mean, I might die first, even. But still, I decided it couldn’t hurt to get a little preventative up in here, and somehow got him to promise me that he would start exercising. (It might have had something to do with the fact that I was crying when I asked him because: OMG DON’T DIE.) So Tuesday night after work, we changed into sweatpants (OMG Henry in elastic-ankled sweatpants, you guys) and I put on the easiest Jillian Michaels DVD in my collection (30 Day Shred, y’all). I was even nice enough to let him start on Level 1, which is as basic as one gets in a workout video. I mean, the warmup is all windmills and jumping jacks, which I learned that Henry literally cannot do, and then hip circles which was HILARIOUS to watch him reenact. Anyway, jumping jacks came up again in the first cardio circuit and I kept catching him in my periphery, all flopping around, arms not syncing up with his legs, and I lost it. I started laughing so motherfucking hard that I peed a little. I can’t lie to you guys. I can’t and I won’t. I peed and kept on exercising because I was afraid if I paused it long enough to change, Henry would escape to Hot Naybor Chris’s basement.
“If you don’t stop laughing at me, I’m going to quit!” he yelled, and I laughed even harder. And then every time Jillian would say, “OK ladies” I would pee just a tiny bit more.
I could hear Henry huffing and puffing during one of the strength segments, so I offered up some advice. “Sometimes when it gets too hard, I draw strength from Dance Gavin Dance,” I said, pointing at my DGD painting behind the TV.
“Fuck you,” he panted.
And then, during some shadowboxing, I said, “I used to picture Christina’s face every time I would throw a punch.”
“That’s great. I’m picturing your face,” he wheezed.
I was going to allow him to switch to some good old-fashioned Bodies In Motion last night, which at least has a male instructor (Gilad 4 lyfe, yo), and is also way easier than any of Jillian’s workouts, but Henry was all, “No. You already made me start this one so let’s go.” So last night, we did 30 Day Shred again. (I just want you to know that I am doing these with him in addition to my usual morning workouts, because I’m a wonderful girlfriend who wants to see her boyfriend succeed…I think that’s how I rehearsed that sentiment.) This time, Chooch was home (he was at his aunt Kelly’s the night before and missed out on his father exercising for the first time since THE SERVICE) and when it was time to do hip circles, I screamed, “CHOOCH LOOK HOW SEXY DADDY!” and Chooch and I cracked the fuck up, which made Henry bristle his mustache (sorry guy, that doesn’t count as aerobics) and threaten again to throw in the proverbial towel.
Do you know how hard it is for me not to grab my phone and post an Instavid of hopping Hank doing jumping jacks? Exercising my restraint — now THAT is a workout.
3. Mustacioed Sounding Board
So, the Grammy’s just happened last Sunday and you might be surprised to know that I did actually watch because I really do like some mainstream garbage every now and then. My favorite parts were when neither Taylor Swift nor Katy Perry won in their categories, but both got faked-out because the albums that DID win both started with the same letter as theirs and I detected a split-second of wile euphoria in their eyes before it registered that it was “Random Access Memories” not “Red,” “Royals” and not “Roar” that had actually won.
Anyway, this prompted one of my long-winded signature late-night diatribes, this one about how fucked up it is that we live in a world where Katy Perry even gets NOMINATED for a Grammy, and Henry just laid there in bed, agreeing with my hysteria and letting me get it all out of my system.
I’m pretty sure he secretly likes her “music,” so I appreciated that he indulged my inherent need to be up-in-arms over essentially nothing.
(P.S. Kendrick Lamar > Macklemore, but that wedding thing was pretty amazing.)
4. All the Right Words
I’ve been having a pretty shitty week. But luckily, it’s just work that’s making it shitty so at least it’s something that I can work on changing. Every day though I have been sending Henry SOS texts from the confines of my office-thing, recounting all the times I’ve been brought to tears by various aspects of my job.
So today, when he dropped me off for work, he called after me, “Try not to cry today!” But it was half past “sweet encouragement” more toward “sarcastic chide”, and it made me laugh so hard. Like, how ridiculous. Why the fuck am I wasting my precious eyeball juice on this shit when I could be christening my music collection with it? There are so many more worthy causes to be crying over than what I do here every day, so thank you Henry for accidentally waking me the fuck up.
Four things is pretty good, right!? Can I go to Heaven now?
*(I was going to call this post “Henry’s Bone” but that seemed a little weird.)