Yep, He's a Swell Guy

I know, I know. You all are sick and tired of me telling you what a swell guy Husband is. I mean, a man who would subscribe to Starz just because his wife is partial to Scottish accents? That's a swell guy.

I was reminding myself of his legendary swellness a few days ago when right after we got into the car for a trip to the Big City. We're remodeling a bathroom (which will be a WHOLE SERIES of posts if it is completed before the Rapture, something that is not looking at all sure right now), and we needed to check out plumbing fixtures at the warehouse.

Of course we went in Earl and Husband was at the wheel, because I have a daydreaming problem that is a little gasp-inducing when combined with driving. The first thing the love of my life did, even before he put on his seat belt, was flip his side of the temperature control to LO. LO means the goal temperature is colder than the 64 degrees that is the coldest number that registers, and Husband has the (mistaken) notion that this cools the car faster when it has been sitting in the sun. I set my side at 72 degrees. Then I fumed and froze, which would seem to be physically impossible but is not.

Individual temperature controls are a lovely concept, but I've discovered that they're a concept that is akin to having a no-smoking section in a restaurant or a no-peeing zone in a pool. Everything gets all mixed up anyway, so why bother?

And that's why I was furiously Googling "What happens to a car's engine when my husband sets his temperature control to Arctic and I set my temperature control to a reasonable temperature?" as we drove down the road. Google had no answer for this.

I stayed metaphorically and physically chilly as we evaluated shower heads and discussed vessel sinks, and I wistfully imagined that all the magnificent bathtubs filled were with hot water and me.

Finally we finished and were back in the car. I steeled myself for the cold air onslaught, but instead he turned to me with a suggestion.

"Let's go someplace different--how about you look up those 50 meals you shouldn't miss?"

And that's how we ended up eating bibimbap in a tiny hole-in-the-wall Korean restaurant with decor that featured snapshots of previous diners. On my own, I would have gone to something familiar, some chain with a full salad menu.

The food was delicious (my first time to try kimchi) but even better was the adventure, laughing at my laughable chopstick technique and comparing which sauce was the hottest. The sizzling hot stone that held the bibimbap warmed me right up and by the time we left I had gotten over Husband's questionable choices in thermostat settings.

He's a swell guy, and I can wear a sweater.