the exception

Yesterday at work we were talking about being sick and still having to run errands. I mentioned that I don't have anyone to take care of me when I'm sick (room mates? HA!) so many times I just have to suck it up, drive to the store myself and hang onto the cart while I struggle through the store.
Then, JOKINGLY again, I said "See, this is why I need a husband! So he can take care of me when I'm sick!"
And then something really disheartening happened. They all started talking about how, no, he can have a cold and it's the end of the world but if you get sick you are still expected to cook, clean, and go to the grocery store. And how he will not take one ounce of care of you if you are sick because he probably won't notice.
And that made me really sad for them.
Because that's not the kind of man my father is. My dad was so anxious to take care of us when we were sick that he would wake me up to see if I needed anything. He would do his best to make sure we ate if mom was sick. Yes, sometimes it was pizza or cereal, but we were fed. And he would protect Mom from our craziness when we she was sick.
And he would go buy feminine products for us if we were out. And he would get the right kind. He would volunteer to do it, too.

On my way home, I called him and thanked him for being the exception. Because when my co-workers entreat me not to settle, I know I won't. I have wonderful measuring stick. Not a perfect one, but a really good one. And better than many.