Even Love Has Its Limits

For some odd reason, my husband came in from his run this morning and in the split second it took me to reach for a book; he had miraculously stripped off his jock, shoes, socks and jacket and left them in a pile in the middle of the family room floor.

I wasn’t sure whether to be amazed that he got his jock of by shimmying it down his leg while keeping his pants on, or for the very fact that he had done a classic bachelor guy thing when in reality he had the tendencies of a neat freak when I married him.

Either way, the guy left it there all day. And after stepping over it for the 4955th time, I decided that SOMEBODY needed to pick it up.

“Elijah,” I said, “How much do you love your Daddy?”

“I really love him!”

“So, would you lick his big toe if he asked?” I queried, trying to gauge if he loved him enough to pick up his dirty jock.

Very seriously he answered, “Mom, I love him enough to touch his poop if I had too.”

“Wow, Elijah,” I was tenderly moved. “That’s good to know because in about 50 years you just might have to do that. So that probably means you wouldn’t mind picking up Dad’s dirty jock strap laying on the floor over there, right?”

And without even a moments hesitation he replied, “Heck no Mom, I’m not touching THAT thing!”

I guess there are limits to a son’s love.

At least we know we’ll have our Depends changed for us when the time comes.