Thursday was my tolerant PH’s birthday. Even if I am atrociously late, I can’t let the date slip away without saying a little something in his honour. After almost ten years of enduring my particular form of madness, he deserves some public recognition. The only problem is, I am not a romantic. Raised by English parents, I am stiff, artless, and bumbling when it comes to gushy stuff. It feels too artificial, too… Vomit-inducing. Therefore, this homage to the forbearing man who has managed my often bizarre anxieties, not to mention those of our dog, with patience and minimal complaint, will be refreshingly mush-free.
Reasons My PH is the Best PH for Me
He allows me to fill up our DVR with the entire Harry Potter movie series. And then actually watches each film with me, in order, just because I’ve never seen them before.
He lets our dog sleep on the bed with us every night, even when she kicks.
He surrenders his time and dignity to playing Santa in a fundraise for an animal welfare organization. Two years in a row. Even after being bitten by a dog and attacked by a cat.
Despite being one of the most introverted people I’ve ever known, he lets me drag him to crowded local festivals and forces himself to have a good time.
He laughs at my dorky jokes, rolls his eyes when I try to bait him, and listens to my explanations of why Moose are mythological creatures and robots are going to take over the world with only slight exasperation.
He knows when I need a kick in the head and when I should just be left alone.
He is good at everything he tries but simply shakes his head when I lament my comparative lack of skill.
He knows how to argue, challenges my intellect, and isn’t scared to change his opinion when presented with new information.
He praises my culinary attempts, even when I make cheesecake soup.
He hates Will Ferrell movies and his disdain for Angelina Jolie is almost equal to my own.
He cooks me an amazing dinner every night, has contempt for bad beer, and understands my passion for cheese in all it’s varieties.
He encouraged me to start a dog blog and continues to read it every chance he gets.
For these reasons – and scads more – I am thrilled to get to call him my best friend. Not everyone gets to live with someone who shares so many of her likes and dislikes and who makes such an effort to interpret her foibles, including her obsession with Petfinder. He has made me a stronger person, helped me realize that maybe, just maybe, I am okay the way I am.
He has made many sacrifices over the last few years, not the least including denying himself an updated video game platform in preference for dog training classes. While I will always tease he moved us to Edmonton so we could finally afford a PS3, it is with gratitude. Even if I find myself a Playstation widow – Jodi’s words, not mine, I won’t complain. He’s earned a bit of down time.