Perfect for Me

I had a PTA meeting tonight. In Atlanta, I lived so far from school that I had to stay all night until the meeting ended; it made no sense to go home. Luckily, that is no longer the case.

I stayed at school for forty-five minutes or so, then ran to the post office and UPS (to return Evil Verizon’s modem). I knew I should be expecting my Unnamed Chain Retailer order for three folding bookshelves.

(Side: I like books.

A lot.

Before I went to Korea, I culled out about a quarter of my books. While in Minnesota, I culled out another quarter of them. Still, I have too many books. I know this (and it’s part of the reason I’m so excited to be living less than three miles from a decent library!).

I have not been able to finish unpacking because I don’t have enough bookshelf space.)

Walking from the car to our door, I was trying to figure out how many boxes of books I could unpack, how long tonight’s bibimbap would take to prepare, and how much time I needed back at school before the PTA meeting.

I walked into the apartment to find the shelves set up, full of my books. Good Man had unpacked every box of books he could find, and he’d even tried to group things together—cooking, Swedish, Korean, photography (and they were not well-grouped within their boxes!). He’d also taken out all of the trash and cardboard.

I looked at what he’d done and thought, “Damn, am I lucky.”

Good Man wasn’t home; he was out running an errand. When he came home, I thanked him. He apologized for not putting the books in perfect order. As if I care! (When I was a kid, I arranged my books by height.) I thanked him again and he just grinned.

I got to work for the PTA meeting and a co-worker who knew I was expecting the shelves asked if I’d received them. I told her what Good Man had done and she said, “Did he put them in the right place? And your books, too? Cause I would only be happy if my husband got it right.”

I smiled and said, “He did it, and I love it.” She’d missed the point.

I don’t want a perfect man. I want a man who’s perfect for me. And any man who even attempts to put my books in some sort of order is perfect for me.