What has the 'Big Bad Abroad' done to Hubby

I know. I know. Sheesh.

I know you know that a header such as the one above pretty much means that I haven't left the confines of this here portable 'puter for some time now. And I'm possibly starting to reek.

As usual. You know me too well.

I admit to not showering since Friday, listening to outrageous, yet sing-along-friendly country, and indulging in the finer things in this existence: coffee, wine, and blogging (and the occasional pizza as those come delivered to the door). I have indeed been busy writing for Project ARWP, Balderdash, and Siamese twins joined by the ocean. However, as fun as sitting in one of three places: at the kitchen counter, on the upstairs couch, or in the downstairs green armchair, with my laptop on my actual lap and a coffee cup/ glass of wine (allow for variation of the time of day) within easy reach, not much worth writing about happens.

Enter: Hubby with grease on his hands.

"What in the hell and its seven chambers of purgatory (or some such thing that sounds very grand, but extremely distressed at the same time)," I think, but what comes out of my mouth is something more like "Wha... nah... walls 'n fok... fingerprints.. ngh?"

"I have taken out the battery," the good man tells me.

"Who.. Huh?" I wittily respond.

It seems that my loving Hubby had after all decided to actually do something about my broken down Daihatsu. By himself. As he apparently wasn't really feeling my well-thought-out and meaningful experiment to see whether the silvery piece of painted cardboard would catch on and fix itself.

I though he would have called someone.

But Hubs is versatile. Turns out.

"I'm going to run it over to the Battery-store and get it tested," he continues all expert-like.

I must admit I wasn't aware of the fact that he even knew how to pop the hood, let alone extricate a battery. I wouldn't have any idea. I had to spend 5 excruciating minutes with a very nice gas station attendant looking for a lever that would open the gas tank the first and only time I decided to put gas in the car. He was very nice about it. I on the other hand yelled at the Hubby later for not telling me about said lever.

And got the 'WTF woman, read the instructions, or better yet, Google it' face. He would never be so rude out loud.

But instructions and me. That's just never, ever going to happen. Proof: Photoshop, me and annoying tutorials I will never, ever watch. Never. Ever. Got that? Never, ever.

So there.

"They'll test the battery cells, but I think I might end up getting you a new battery," he finishes off with bravado.

And I'm left in awe of who I married.

Although this is the same man who a couple of months ago did not know how to change a tire. Is the universe playing with me or has Hubby discovered Google as well?

We are left to wonder.