~ By an Anonymous Reader
Fascinating Womanhood lets us stomp our feet and shake our heads. Oh, this is fun!
Getting husbands to do things has been next to impossible, so I thought. By being impatient and nagging, I accomplished nothing! I became a “fix-it-man” in our home, mowing lawns, painting, plug fixing, furniture moving, etc.
After many days of rain our living room roof leaked along a ten foot section, so trying to let go of the man’s role, I got pots, pans and baking trays and lined the leak along the living room floor. The family couldn’t cross the room without stepping between the pots and pans. It was hard not to complain or nag and even harder not to go up and repair the roof myself. I bit my lip and held my tongue, which was a record for me.
That night, I was awakened by what I seemed to be a loud noise. I leaped out of bed, not turning on the lights and rushed into the living room. I stepped on the edge of one of the larger pans of rain water, splashing cold water up my leg and all over my night gown. Thanks to Fascinating Womanhood, I remembered I wanted to be loved and worshiped and not to nag.
I went outside to check the noise and, finding nothing, returned to the living room, stepping onto another pan, splashing cold water up the other leg and again on my gown. Thanks to Fascinating Womanhood, childlikeness was filling my brain.
Carefully, I walked back to the bedroom, switched on the lamp and there lay my sweet husband peacefully asleep. I called my husband’s name gently. After awakening him, I stomped my foot, shook my head and said “This is for the wet leg and a dripping nightgown.”
Startled, he asked what was going on. In a pathetic, appealing voice, almost crying I said, “I’m dripping wet with rain water from a leaky roof.” I said no more. He was too shocked to say another word.
In the morning I was awakened by foot-steps on the roof. I peeked out and there on the roof was my husband making the necessary repairs. When he came in, I bragged on his muscles and how strong he is and that I didn’t really know about repairs like he did. He had a delightful smile on his face.
About a week later, hurrying down the highway, I noticed my husband’s truck hailing me down. He had been home and missed me. He presented me with a kiss and a gift—the most beautiful, gorgeous white chrysanthemums with red satin hearts in the center of each bloom. I was so thrilled I could hardly say a word.
You see, he had not been in the practice of giving gifts nor remembering special days. He had not been brought up this way and wasn’t aware of how much women love being remembered. The card attached had a lovely message, “See dear, I don’t forget, Love, Ron.”
We hold the keys to our own happiness.