Stories about My Husband

Chapter one: Why My Husband's Work Clothes will always have Bloodstains

One night, I posted this on Twitter: "My husband bought a chainsaw and is cutting down a healthy tree. I don't know why."

The overwhelming male response was: "Because he bought a chainsaw."

Tonight, while sorting laundry, I came across one of my husband's t-shirts, non unlike many t-shirts I have seen before it, and rather than shout-a-stain-out, I thought to leave it.

I thought then to ask my husband if he wanted to keep the stain, because after all, it is his shirt. He smiled and said "Yes, leave it."

I was reminded in that moment of his father. The first day I met his father my thought was "good Lord I have never seen that much paint on a person."

My husband's father worked and he worked hard. He was a tile man. He cut tile by hand and grouted on his knees. Later, he cut with a water saw. The spots and splatters on his pants were not only paint, but floor glue and plaster and grout and so on.

He taught his son to cut tile and his son taught me, and I have to say, it's very messy.

To that, my husband's father taught me "Dirt is the badge of the workingman."

Well, if dirt is the Badge, blood is the Medal.

I think when my husband is out; getting gas, banking, going to the parts store to get another part that won't fit and if it does it'll break the 4th time he uses it, he passes other workingmen, and they nod at each other.

They wait in line together or throw back a cold one after a good day, sit next to each other in Hospital Emergency Rooms and say to one another, "Looks like ya' cut yourself."

"Yup. Damn [insert the name of any tool or process]."

"Man, I hate when that happens."

It's a moment.

Recently, there was a woman who was in a Bi-Lo parking-lot. She quickened her pace, stole glances behind her to gauge the distance between her car and a wild-looking, dirt and bloodstained man, calling to her waving his hands.

If she could have heard him, she would know that she dropped something out of her cart. (Your "personal" grocery item is at the service counter by the way.)

If she could hear me, I'd say “Ma'am, if I didn't know that man was my husband, I’d run too,” "but he's a workingman, and that blood is code."

So that's why I won't get the bloodstains out of my husband's work clothes.

That, and because it's a royal pain in the ass to do.


Next: Chapter Two: Another Way of Looking at it Altogether

Author's Note: Husband states: "We do not go to the emergency room; we go to Lowe's & get duct tape & rags. "

Please correct your copies. Thank you.