In moments of frustration, I sometimes mutter that I can’t stand my partner. This often occurs after stumbling over his shoes in the hallway or while I’m trying to drift off to sleep amid the cacophony of his snoring. Why can’t he maintain a consistent rhythm? If only his snoring were more predictable, I could easily fall asleep to it.
During dinner, I observe him from across the table and wonder how I overlooked the loud smacking sounds he makes while eating during our courtship. Did he put in extra effort to impress me back then? Surely he can’t be unaware of how he sounds.
Occasionally, during a disagreement that escalates into a full-blown argument—when I’m convinced I’m in the right, and he’s being unreasonable—I fantasize about solitude. I envision a life where my opinions reign supreme, where I wouldn’t find his receipts scattered around the house or have to retrace our steps because he forgot his wallet… yet again. I imagine living without having to negotiate, wait, or prepare meals for him.
I ponder if I might have been better matched with a different kind of man—someone more attuned to the sounds they produce, someone who cleans up after themselves, someone who notices when the kitchen counter is a mess. There was that one tidy boyfriend from college; I wonder if life would have been smoother with him. In that alternate reality, perhaps I wouldn’t be the one doing the nagging. I picture a perfect household, my ears free from annoying sounds.
Yet here I am, in this reality, with my chosen partner. Sometimes I catch him gazing at me, and I roll my eyes in annoyance. “What’s up?” I ask. “You’re stunning,” he replies, and I feign indifference, pretending it doesn’t warm my heart.
As I prepare for bed, I grimace at my reflection. The scale’s reading makes me groan. “Stop that,” he says around his toothbrush, “you’re perfect just the way you are,” as toothpaste splatters on the counter.
When I indulge in pistachios, I have a peculiar habit: I lick the salt off, crack the shells with my teeth, and then suck on them some more. It’s a messy, unappetizing way to enjoy a snack. I also burp loudly, grading my belches on a scale of one to ten based on volume and duration. I might leave my period underwear soaking in the bathroom sink or go days without showering, letting my hair become greasy and stringy. I detest bras and rarely wear one at home; my body, once youthful, now feels deflated and sad.
My partner often compliments my body, insisting it’s perfect. He praises my skills as a mother and a cook, and even claims I have a knack for decorating (which I don’t). He admires my writing, telling me he could never produce a book, calling it “insane.” He makes me feel exceptional, as though my existence stands out among countless others. It’s baffling how he perceives only the good in me while being blind to my flaws.
Unlike many husbands who nitpick their wives, mine embraces me wholly. He’s unwaveringly accepting of my entire self, and he seldom holds a grudge.
I could find someone who chews quietly, remembers to pick up after himself, and squeezes the toothpaste from the bottom (for goodness’ sake). I could even seek someone who snores softly or, better yet, not at all.
However, I could search endlessly and never find anyone capable of the pure, selfless love my partner gives me. Whoever they might be, they wouldn’t love me the same way. I’m not deserving of such affection, considering how easily annoyed I can be and how full of flaws I am. I’m not the easiest person to love, yet he loves me nonetheless.
My partner insists he’s fortunate to have me, that he can’t fathom what he did to deserve me. He’s got it so incredibly wrong. He could have loved anyone this deeply—someone more deserving, someone less bothered by the sounds of chewing. Still, he chose me and continues to do so every day, as if loving unconditionally is as natural to him as breathing.
In truth, he is not the lucky one.
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In summary, my partner’s obliviousness is a source of gratitude, allowing me to embrace the imperfect aspects of our life together while feeling cherished despite my flaws.
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