One of the annoying things about my husband is that he grew up poor eating beans and rice, so he doesn't have a favorite meal. He likes everything. The man is a garbage disposal. "What do you want to eat on your birthday?" I always get: "I don't know."

Then we have the feet issue. The man is weird about his feet. No one gets near his feet. And he's a perfectionist, so my pillow fluffing would never meet the strict standards. If I spoke softly he'd say, "Did you lose your voice? Don't get too close, I don't want to catch the virus. "

It's not my fault I can't be a good wife. The man just doesn't know how to stick to proper 1950s standards. Sigh.