All the Boy Stuff

I don’t get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns
The stumbles and falls brought me here

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know that I am
I am, I am the luckiest

~ Ben Folds – The Luckiest

The husband was here for the long weekend. Here and then gone. Before he arrived the condo was noticeably a condo with ‘Sarah stuff’. After he left? Ahhh, now there is boy stuff.  

When we first started dating we were also in a long-distance relationship; he in Wilmington and me in Raleigh. Two hours by car now seems like a snap of the fingers. A blink of an eye. A jab in the side. In the beginning we’d arrive to the other’s respective home with a weekend bag filled with necessities. As the trip came to a close, all the things would find their way back into the bag and back into the car. It was almost like cleaning up after the scene of the crime. Leave nothing behind.

Trip by trip things slowly got left bit by bit. A toothbrush. Deodorant. A pair of running shoes. Some spare underwear. And then suddenly it was as if another human lived in the house but was simply at work or on a trip elsewhere. The presence of the person was palatable.

Today I have boy stuff again. There are shoes under the bed, there are shirts in the closet, and there are socks in the laundry. There are pretty boy things to send to the cleaners, and there is a repertoire of fancy products in the bath. There is bourbon in the cupboard, and meat in the fridge. He left behind a lot of boy stuff. I quite like all the boy stuff.

And in true good husband form he also fixed stuff, cleaned stuff, carried stuff, and questioned stuff. Bring more of the boy stuff. Happy wife.