I know several women who routinely make up “Honey-do” lists for their husbands, who actually do the things on their lists. The Honey-do list is a thriving document. It’s updated weekly. Tasks are checked off with satisfaction. I don’t know what kind of power these wives have. In my house, the list exists mostly as a theoretical concept—something I wish Hubby would get to, but deep down, I know he never will. If I made up a real list, Hubby would bury it somewhere under his pile of things to “get to” someday, where it would languish in obscurity.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m married to a wonderful man. He’s kind, thoughtful, makes a mean pot of chili, and will occasionally watch a Rom-Com with me. But when it comes to home improvement? Let’s just say I married a “Honey-Don’t.”

But some things still gnaw at me. Like the hole that’s been in the downstairs bathroom ceiling from where he was checking for a leak from the upstairs bathroom twelve or more years ago. Every time I mention that it would be nice to have the ceiling repaired, Hubby says, “But as soon as I do, we’re bound to have another leak.” I guess that’s one way of putting it.

When we were de-decorating last Christmas, Hubby was in charge of the outdoor lights. He did a magnificent job, except he forgot the net lights on our bushes out front. When I pointed that oversight out to him, his response was to unplug the lights. As of now, Christmas is only another seven months away, and if we start decorating right after Thanksgiving . . . well, we’re halfway there, and leaving the lights up will give us one less task we have to do.

A number of household chores I have taken on myself, like pressure washing the porch and the fence. He will help by getting out the pressure washer, filling it with gasoline, and pulling the starter for me, which my puny upper arm strength can’t manage. The rest is up to me.

We’ve had a florescent light in our closet that has worked sporadically since the Obama administration. If you toggle the switch enough times, it might flicker on, but it’s getting worse. I think it’s the ballast, but what do I know? I may have to YouTube how to fix it.

Look, I love the man. I really do. And to be fair, he’s amazing in other ways. He’s a human GPS. He kills bugs without complaint. He puts gas in my car and always rubs my feet when we’re watching television. For a foot rub alone, I can live with his penchant for ignoring the Honey-do’s. And since his positive traits outweigh his Honey-don’t, I have mostly accepted that he is just not a handyman.

He’s an “I’ll get around to it” type of guy. (I had a friend who once gave her husband a round piece of wood with the words “Round Tuit” printed on it. I wish I knew where to get one.) I’m still waiting for him to clean out the garage from when the shelves crashed two years ago, dumping everything onto the floor. But that doesn’t bother me too much, as I don’t have to look at the mess, and since the brakes on his sports car aren’t working, he hasn’t had to clear a path to remove the car. Not to worry, he’ll get around to fixing the brakes someday. Like the previous sports car he owned—a yard ornament sitting on blocks in our carport for two years waiting to be fixed—before he finally got rid of it. (I had to park my car out in the rain.)

So, I’ve adapted. Tasks don’t go unfinished—they become “long-term projects.” I either take matters into my own hands and hang that picture myself (even if Hubby says I didn’t do it right), pay someone to do the work for me, or I simply learn to live with the squeak, drip, or the kitchen faucet Hubby installed with the hot and cold-water connections reversed. But, hey, he DID install the faucet. And every now and then, he surprises me and fixes something because he tripped over it.

Progress is progress.

So if you, too, are married to a Honey-Don’t, take heart. You are not alone. Your house may lean slightly to the left, but your love is rock solid.
And really, isn’t that what marriage is all about?

Still, sometimes, I think we need a husband.