On the surface, my husband is an @#$%. He's blunt, gruff, stubborn, opinionated and wouldn't recognize tact or a subtle emotion if it bit him in the @#$%.
He's also loyal, generous, funny, and sentimental in surprising ways and often to a fault. He would literally give the shirt off his back or our last dollar to a friend in need.
He'll do anything I ask (but stubbornly will often wait for me to ask). He's the one more likely to remember a birthday or anniversary. I'm the forgetful one.
Today, he did something (or rather, didn't do something) to p@#$ me off today and I thought "What an @#$%!"
It's pms week for me, so to be fair, it doesn't take much to p@#$ me off. Instead of yelling at him, I decided to write about my anger. I thought about all his mistakes and faults, but overshadowing it all was the fact that he has not only stood by me and with me throughout my illness and disability, he was also sole breadwinner and caregiver when I couldn't take care of myself, even through his own severe daily pain (as his own body fell apart as a result of a genetic disorder that would soon disable him).
He wasn't always patient, he sometimes complained, but he never blamed me for my lethargy and inertia, even as I blamed myself (for which he would scold me).
My husband is like a brindled pitbull I once knew. Huge, fierce looking, and totally intimidating until you looked at him and called his name, then he'd flop on his back and melt into a wriggling ball of love jello.
I'm not sure my husband would appreciate the comparison, but you can't stay mad at love jello, even if it is anchovy and pickle flavored.