from down the street joined us to offer Mr. Husband moral and beer support. Brian brought with him a thirsty appetite and knowledge of many grills of years past. He knew what way up to place the washers, he knew that a certain thing-a-ma-jiggie was going to pop out of the bottom of a plastic shoot, and he helped secure the warming station to the right side of the grill. Basically, Brian was a font of knowledge and a wealth of help. I could hear the two of them out in the garage making jokes about the parts and telling stories. It was like music to my ears. No longer was Mr. Husband stressed or perplexed—he had support in the form of man help. While wife help can be supportive and stroke the ego, man help often actually helps get the job done.
Man help to the rescue! They laughed and cheered each other on. Ok, maybe they didn’t “cheer” exactly. Maybe I’m adding a bit too much girl commentary to the situation. Oops. They grunted and threw wrenches at each other and rolled around in the dirt. They were men. Men with a grill. Men with a big giant grill purpose. And beer.Brian and his wife invited us over for ribs that Brian has been cooking since 10:00 this morning. Awesome. Who, like, would not want that? Even if you don’t, imagine that you do. This is the perfect ending for Grill Sunday—we’ll go and see what is possible with our very own grill. We'll go and watch the grill master … and we’ll dream. We will live grill all day. Grill! So while the boys were in the garage, rolling in dirt and talking all sorts of man stuff (bring me a hammer), I found my place in the kitchen.
Holy crap—if I had berries to gather and pick, I would have. All was right with the world for two hours in our home as the men fixed something and the women cooked. Sharon, Brian’s wife, soon joined me in the kitchen as I cooked couscous and sautéed vegetables to go with the super ribs that we’re about to have very, very soon. I’m sure that somewhere the universe reset herself and smiled upon us. I’m sure. I was a good wife and refilled beer glasses when needed.
That Heineken keg I bought for Mr. Husband for the first anniversary is really coming in handy. Fresh beer for the mens. Mr. Husband struggled with his electric screwdriver and learned a plethora of new things today. I honestly believe he can now tackle any obstacle and leap any building with a single bound. Nothing can stop this man. We are homeowners (Grrrrr!), we are grill masters (Grrrrr!), we can fix anything and make it right (Grrrr!).
Life is good.
At the end of all of it, we posed for several family shots with the new grill. We needed a jazz hands photo, super necessary.
This one is for Harold who will next year eat amazing foods off our grill. Harold—you will come home from Iraq and eat the most awesome super food ever in our home. I can’t wait for you to be here and know the power of the grill. One tiny jazz hand for Harold, one giant grill hand for Haroldkind. You will be so impressed, Hario.And then, the end. This is the end, the gentle grill. Where did our sweet grill end up? In the side yard on our tiny stoop of a porch where she will live? No. She did not venture there.
Mr. Husband was good to me and put her back in her place. Here she sits on the right side of the garage, outside my driver’s side door, ready and willing to bang up my door and smash my legs. Thank you, Mr. Husband. I love you. My legs are ever thankful. He’s a funny man, and that’s worth more than anything in the world.
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