It is a quiet evening at the Lane fortress of domestic bliss. I’m sitting in my chair (a thing that has been rare this summer of unwanted academic inclusion) knitting my Monkey sock (alas, still on the first one) and Big T is across from me, running the remote control through a rerun of Supernatural (yum!). The little ones are asleep, Mate is playing WOW, and Chicken is on a camping trip with grandma. (For the record, I was supposed to join Chicken and T on this trip for a day trip…then T was dropped off at home yesterday with a very hazy direction for when everybody would be home and whether or not I was supposed to join them. This morning I said ‘screw it’ and decided to stay home and wait for Chicken. Chicken didn’t show up, which means that I was probably supposed to go join them after all. I feel really bad about this, but not so bad that I didn’t enjoy knitting and writing all day. It’s been a rough summer.)
Suddenly I feel it coming on. An attack of “This is awesome and you must praise me!” Fortunately, I’m married to Mate.
“Mate–I need you to look at me and praise my Monkey socks.” Pause. “Now.”
Mate hits some sort of complicated keys on his computer and turns his head, making an effort to focus on the luscious Claudia’s Handpaint that is 3/4 done.
“Ooooohhh. Ahhhhhhhhh.” He says dutifully.
Good Mate…gooooooooooood Mate. Enablers don’t get much better than that.