Why I like my husband

He is the eternal helper of little old ladies crossing the street, defender of those unable to defend themselves, righter of wrongs, doer of good.

Picture this. Sunny day, posh neighborhood (obviously, not ours), coffee shop. Skirmish between Old Man, quick math during subsequent conversation puts him at 90 or thereabouts, and Guy about appropriateness of loud, long phone conversations in a public place. Not thrilled with the direction of the back and forth, but not our concern. Until.

Old man says Guy should get an office to conduct business. Guy calls Old Man "crazy." I jump in, telling Guy he's out of line. Husband "sees the red mist" as my friend describes her rage, and tells Guy to have some respect. Guy mistakenly says, "what are you going to do about it?" Husband suggests he and Guy step outside. Guy goes very quiet and won't make eye contact.

We have nice conversation with Old Man. Jewish, German, immigrated to the U.S. in 1939 and fought in the Pacific during WWII. We wait for Old Man to leave, on our way out Husband tells Guy to have a nice day, and that he's an A-hole.

I really like my husband.