HUSBANDS! So, do ya think they do it on purpose?

I love my husband. He's the greatest guy on the planet, always there to help me with my computer and all the geeky things my pea-brain will never be able to grasp. And, he's an early riser and a hard worker; he can fix everything from a Jenn-Air refrigerator, whose previous owner mended with a Maytag part, to a top of the line pedal steel guitar. He can also hear the voice of the Lord from deep inside a sleeping bag buried in the underbrush of a dense forest waking him up in the middle of the night from a dead sleep telling him to hightail it outta there because our little group was in danger.

But, the one thing I will never understand is how my husband can misinterpret my requests. Take last Saturday when I'd cleaned and cooked for hours preparing for a big party. Right before I hopped into the shower for the big event, I'd asked him to go out to the garden and get me a lemon. One lemon off our tree. And what did I find in the kitchen when I'd gotten out of the shower just fifteen minutes before our guests were to arrive? Practically the entire tree load, and him juicing and slicing and making lemonade for the whole group.

"Hi honey," he called out happily when he saw me standing in the doorway dressed in my velvet pants. "Have a glass of lemonade. It's delicious!"

"Sure," I said, eyeing sticky juice on the counters and bits of pulp and peel all over my used to be fresh mopped floor.

And then there was the next sound: Ding-Dong.

Yep. I love my husband!