It’s Thanksgiving in a couple of days and, amid all the shopping (done) and the cooking and baking (to come), I’ve been doing some thinking (sometimes my ideas lead me into Lucy Ricardo territory, sometimes not). This time, I’m thinking about the one single thing I’m most thankful for. And that would be my amazing husband, B.

The reasons why are many and varied (more, say, than you can shake a turkey drumstick at), but I’ll limit myself here to those that are the most shareable. I am thankful because:

B. always turns on the nightlight for me because he knows I’m kind of, a little, scared of the dark. Not that I’ll admit it.

Me: How come the nightlight’s on?

He: Because I know the dark scares you.

Me: It does not!

He: Okay, I’ll turn it off.

Me: No! I mean, it can stay on if it’s that important to you. (Sigh of relief.)

He’s my biggest fan. In whatever I do. Even my singing.

Me: How did that sound?

He: You hit all the notes. Almost.

He thinks all the gorgeous women we see on TV or in the movies are too skinny. (Need I say more?)

He loves me best in sweats, a ponytail, and no makeup. Really. (That doesn’t stop me from stepping it up from time to time, but it’s nice to know.)

He has this remarkable way of making me feel better when I’ve messed something up.

Me: This is the worst dinner I’ve ever made! I can’t cook.

He: Sure you can. This isn’t bad.

Me: Really? Want more?

He: Uh…you know, I think I want to leave room for dessert.

He has this uncanny knack of reading my mind.

Me: I bought your birthday present today. You’ll never guess what it is.

He: A telescope?

Me: How could you possibly know that? The first and only time you’ve ever mentioned a telescope was at least ten years ago. Geez!

He: You mean I’m right?

He taught me how to play catch (like someone who actually possesses some degree of athletic ability) — bought me my own glove (but told me not to call it “cute,”); took me to the park; taught me how to throw (put your whole arm into it) and catch (keep your eye on the ball until it’s in your glove) a softball. What he forgot to teach me was to beware as I’m backing up to catch a fly ball so that I don’t trip over my feet (is it my fault that my Dodgers cap slipped over one eye? And it’s a great cap — black with a pink logo. I bought that).

He: Good session.

Me: Really?

He: Considering you never played sports as a kid, you’re doing great.

Me: Can we go to the mall now?

He treats his mom wonderfully. And he treated my mom (a bit more challenging) wonderfully.

Little girls love to flirt with him. Big girls love how fair, decent, generous, and kind he is. This girl isn’t sure what she did to deserve him, but I’d gladly do it all over again a million times because he is the love of my life (as well as being both handsome and adorable — don’t tell him I told you that part).

And that, my friends, is the full answer to b. cause.

ⓒ 2015 Claudia Grossman