Lent. I remember Lent. When I was younger I was an acolyte at an Episcopal church, very much like the Cathol's if you don't know. Every year the priests wanted to know what we were giving up for Lent. Snickers, sugar, beating up the neighbor kid, whatever. They obssesed about it, checking with us every week to see how we were holding up. Always reminding us of the reasons behind it all, which now have completly escaped me. I think I gave up listening to them one year.
Tonight my lovely wife will come home, I'll look at her, forget what day it is, say "honey, you got a little schmootz on your forehead." She'll kiss me and try to get some of it on me. I still don't know what she has chosen to give up for this Lental season (perhaps soup). Yesterday she still didn't know. I know we now have mystery meal on friday nights. I suffer, but I'll pull through. Whatever she decides she needs to give up, I will support her, and likely only tempt her with it every other day.
It's my job as her husband to make sure she remembers why she does this, and to remind her, often, how hard it is to sacrifice that thing.
See, I did learn something from those priests.
I'm such a good husband.
Mmmm....crab souffle.
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