Saint Good Doctor

Someone said something recently that stuck in my craw. I won't name names, but it's the Emmy award winning photog I work with pretty regularly. And he's not Mexican.

We were chatting on our way to interview a child molester, or was it the CEO of a luxury dot com aimed at "aspirational living?" Forgive me for the lack of clarification, but both interviews happened the same day.

In our convo about husbands and wives and what people argue about, the unnamed photog says, "[The Good Doctor] is a SAINT. He's going straight to heaven. St. Peter is gonna put a hand on his shoulder and say, "Right this way sir." He goes on to say, "When you get there, they're gonna say, 'Umm, ma'am?. Hang on just one second please. (Makes a motion like he's talking into a walkie talkie, "We've got Vicky Nguyen here. Stall her?") Wait right here."

He was just joshin' me of course. But it totally touched a nerve. In a slice open my skin, pull out a bundle of dendrites, tweeze a neuron, dip it in batter and deep fry it, and chop it into 65 pieces while it's still attached to my retina kind of way.

Like seriously, what kind of wife do people think I am? 

OK fine. I'm the kind of wife that orders her husband's birthday present 2 days before his birthday and doesn't pay extra for the express shipping. But promises him it will be REALLY REALLY COOL when he gets his present 4 days after his birthday because it will be like celebrating a second time. BONUS day! 

But as much as I'm not into PBAs, public blobs of affection, The Good Doctor is every cliche you can think of. We shared a journal in high school and OH MY GOD NERD LOVE ALERT he wrote, "If you die before me ask if you can bring a friend." STP lyrics fed nicely into angsty teen love. But it's true. If I ever became an actress and had to do a crying season, I would just imagine my life without him and Windsor Waterworks, you're gonna get wet. That's for my Sonoma County readers. 

However, I'm sure I could be nicer to him. It's just not in my nature to be that nice. It feels wrong. Besides, one should not be measured in superficial daily niceness. One should be scored over the long term, taking into account the overall positive effect of one's actions. I have been a proton in The Good Doctor's life.

I'd say I'm nice a good 50% of the time. And when I'm nice, I'm VERY nice. Complimentary, smiley, sweet, agreeable, attentive. 25% of the time I'm sarcastic, distracted, easily annoyed, and self-entertained. 15% of the time I'm hyper and goofy and asking him ponderous questions and doing things to make him laugh. And the final 10% I'm probably providing material for, his favorite new hobby. 

But that's what makes life interesting. Deep down, he enjoys the feisty, the fiery, the unpredictable, the stubborn, the teasing, the challenging, the amusing. Just as much as I enjoy the stable, the kind, the caring. Nice + nice = yawn. You need the yin and yang, the sweet and sour, the bitter and smooth. 

We balance each other. I'm the CEO and he's the president in our lives, and we are lords of our own domains. Me: food, cleaning, social calendar. Him: childcare, NCAA tournament, packing/organizing small spaces.

I do wonder if his colleagues at work think of me as the little missus and him as Dr. McWearsThePants. That's totally OK with me, actually. But people who know BOTH of us know that we put the "crazy" and "glue" into crazy glue. 

I will agree with my non-Mexican photog. My husband is a saint and he will go straight through the pearly gates. Not because he can handle me, but because he is genuinely the nicest and kindest person I have ever known. It amazes me every day that he can be who he is, what with all the hell and highwater swirling around him.