Mr T is a wonderfully supportive husband and father. I think that if I insisted that we needed to move to Siberia because the freezing winters would benefit us all, he’d agree. It’s not that he’s under the thumb – far from it. It’s because he trusts my judgement. He knows I always do my research first and that I’d never put the wellbeing of our family at risk. He’s even more sceptical than me when it comes to natural therapies, and would love to solve all health issues with a pill.
Unfortunately, there is no pill cure for gluten and wheat intolerances or for happiness. (Well, there is a pill to aid happiness, several pills actually, but they’re short-term fixes, highly addictive and have no place in long-term happiness and wellbeing.)
Mr T’s downfall is that he’s a worrier and a terrible stresshead. He always worries about me, even when I’m having good days, which have become a regular occurrence. He works fulltime in a very stressful job in advertising and is convinced he’ll die well before me. (He’s six months older than me.) I’ve made it very clear to him that if he did that, I’d bring him back to life and kick his arse for dying on me.
We affectionately call him Mr Clean because mess drives him nuts. I am lucky enough to have a husband that not only does housework, but loves vacuuming! We all love him for it and it's just one of the many reasons why he's stuck with me for the rest of his life, and after I revive him (if he is rude enough to die before me).
One of the more important reasons, though, is that he never stops believing in me.
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