I have to bow down to my husband’s brilliance.
Yesterday he finished filling in our tax returns. He diligently hounded me for all the right pieces of paper, and didn’t take no for an answer, or try to shoot me when it turned out that I had filed everything very cunningly in a system so arcane that even I didn’t actually understand it.
He showed the patience of a true saint, and were it not for the fact that his eyebrows did quite a lot of uppy downy things I would be writing a letter to Pope Francis now, asking about canonisation in advance of actual death and/or three real life bona fide miracles.
He then spent the afternoon watching Youtube clips of how you are supposed to rebuild toilets, wasting several minutes watching ones for a cistern that didn’t even match ours before figuring out we had a different one. To be scrupulously fair, I suspect that I would have soldiered on regardless in these circumstances and merely cunningly adapted our own toilet to nearly but not quitely fit the one on Youtube, thus necessitating a plumbing emergency, the recreation of scenes from Hawaii Five O but with more sewage and tantrums up the yin yang.
He did not do this, gentle readers. He figured it all out in advance. Then he watched the right videos for the right sort of toilets, and then drove to the plumbing supplies shop twice, and then he took apart and rebuilt the toilet.
And up to now it has managed to stay looking like a toilet, flushing like a toilet and not leaking like a sieve masquerading as a toilet.
I am comprehensively impressed at every, single level.
I don’t know which of the two skills he has demonstrated I am most grateful for.
Imagine, if you can, the joy of hiring a plumber to save your toilet woes, only to find that they can also do accounts and know how to read the tax return forms, and are willing to help you fill them out so that you don’t weep with exhaustion and terror and tick all the boxes just in case. Imagine…
Then imagine that they don’t charge you for these skills, and that they are also quite good at beardy kisses (their beard, not yours), and making your children laugh by being able to fart like ducks quacking.
Then imagine that this paragon of manhood. This unparalleled, nonpareil of manliness and wonder asks you to go to Copenhagen with him next week to eat cake.
It is hard to imagine such wonders I know, but if you squinch your eyes together quite a lot and say: ‘I do believe in men who fix toilets and do tax returns – no charge.’ sometimes, when you unsquinch your eyes they actually appear.