My husband thinks I am a goddess. At the very least, he thinks that I have magical powers, and who but a goddess would have those?
I guess the first magical power is not so much a magical power as it is a magical device. What looks to you and me like an ordinary purse is really, in his eyes, an anti-gravity device. Any object of his that he finds it inconvenient to carry magically ceases to weigh anything once it is tucked into my purse. Of course, to me it feels like it weighs something, but once his glasses, bug spray, recent purchase or other item is in my purse, it doesn’t weigh anything to him any more. We goddesses are magical that way.
My second magical power is the ability to stretch time to infinite limits. That is why even when I have notes on the whiteboard in the kitchen saying “doctor appointment, 10:30 AM”, “haircut and color at one”, or “walking with D at the mall”, hubby finds it perfectly reasonable to add two or three chores to my schedule. Actually, I’m not sure he thinks of it in terms of adding chores to my schedule. I don’t think he realizes I have a schedule. He doesn’t think I have a schedule despite my telling him what is on my schedule.
And that brings us to my next magical power: mind erasure. I can erase any information from his mind by the simple act of sitting him down, looking him in the eye, and telling him about it. For instance, I can say to him, “I’m going to the grocery tomorrow. Be sure to write down anything you need on the whiteboard.” Then when he comes home to find food in the refrigerator, he will say, “I didn’t know you were going to the grocery.” If I ever have an affair, it will be a piece of cake to hide it from hubby. I’ll just sit him down and say, “John, I have a boyfriend. His name is Harry. I’m meeting him at a motel tonight and won’t be home until after midnight.” John will never suspect a thing.
My final magical power has been recently acquired. I can now see what is going on behind my back, at least if what is going on involves my cat. Noise will be coming from the kitchen while I watch TV, which is in the opposite direction from the kitchen door. “What’s that?” I ask. “It’s your cat. Can’t you see him?” I forgot to mention that in addition to being in the opposite direction from where I am looking, the view of the kitchen is blocked by a wall. No matter. Goddesses can see behind our backs and through walls.
Yes, of course, I have told him that my purse gets heavy when there is too much in it, that I make plans for my week days in advance and can’t always add last minute chores, though I will if I can, that he can learn a lot from listening to me, particularly the answers to questions he just asked me, and that no matter what his mama told him, mothers don’t have eyes in back of our heads. The logical side of him agrees with all of this, and he does try to mend his ways.
The illogical side of him still thinks I’m a goddess.