After 40 years of marriage, my husband shuts me up, and BAM – karma smacks him right back! Hank and I have been together forever, ya know? All this time, this cranky old man thinks he’s Mr. Always Right! I could put up with a lot, but letting him spoil my dream trip to France? No way!
I’d been squirreling away money, brushing up on my French for years. So, I just sprung it on him by gifting us tickets. But even in France, my grumpy old man wouldn’t admit I might actually know a thing or two! He flat out refused my help with the language. So there we were, at a restaurant. Hank just points at the menu to pick a dish.
“Me: Honey, you should…”
“Him: SHHH, EDITH! I’m not a child! I’ll take this one! NOW!”
15 minutes later, Hank’s bolting out of the john, all green and freaked out, hollering, “HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?! YOU KNEW IT WAS…”
Let’s rewind a bit. We had arrived in Paris that morning, and I was bubbling with excitement. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, the Seine…I wanted to soak it all in. Hank, however, was determined to do everything his way. “I don’t need no fancy guide,” he grumbled. “I can figure things out.”
As we strolled through the charming streets, we came across a quaint little restaurant. The menu was entirely in French, and while I could translate it easily, Hank waved me off. “Edith, I’m not a child! I’ll figure it out,” he insisted.
I watched as he confidently pointed at a dish on the menu, and the waiter nodded with a bemused smile. “Très bien, monsieur,” the waiter said, and I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.
“Me: Honey, are you sure about that dish? Maybe I can…”
“Him: Edith, please! I’m not a tourist. I can handle this.”
Our food arrived, and Hank dug into his meal with gusto. I watched him closely, a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. He had ordered andouillette, a traditional French sausage made from pork intestines, known for its very strong and distinctive taste.
“Me: Honey, maybe you should…”
“Him: SHHH, Edith!”
He took one big bite, and his face turned an interesting shade of green. His eyes widened, and he made a beeline for the restroom. Moments later, he came rushing back out, looking pale and horrified.
“Him: HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME?! YOU KNEW IT WAS…”
“Me: Oh, but you didn’t need my help, remember? You’re not a child,” I replied sweetly, barely able to contain my laughter.
For the rest of the trip, Hank was a bit more humble. He actually listened when I suggested we visit the Musée d’Orsay or take a river cruise. He even let me order our meals after that incident, and we had the best culinary experiences of our lives.
One evening, as we sat on a bench overlooking the Seine, Hank took my hand. “Edith, I’m sorry for being such a stubborn old fool,” he said quietly. “I should’ve listened to you more.”
I smiled and squeezed his hand. “It’s alright, Hank. I love you just the way you are, even when you’re being Mr. Always Right.”
Our trip to France turned out to be everything I had dreamed of and more. We returned home with countless memories, hilarious stories, and a renewed appreciation for each other. Hank might still be a bit grumpy and stubborn, but he learned to respect my knowledge and love for adventure. And I learned that sometimes, karma has a funny way of teaching us lessons.
