I will just say it now for blogsterity: I have the best in-laws on the planet. I am not bragging, just breathing a sigh of relief. Although in-law relationships are supposed to be fraught with the kinds of goings-on that are fodder for hilarious impersonations and serious marital tension, I have been, for now, kindly spared.
Sande is my one and only father-in-law and as he shuttles back and forth between Sarasota, Fl and Long Island, NY on Southwest Airlines, in between wearing his crocs, driving his moped, taking pictures of his dogs and loving on his first grandchild, I have been quietly observing the ways in which my husband is becoming like his father.
Aggravatingly punctual, expecting of immediate results after a transaction, naysayer of the beloved New York sports teams five minutes into any game, cocky strutting, fiber supplement-drinking, Bloody Mary-appreciating, white tube sock aficionados they are. They both never saw a Jets baseball cap they didn’t like, a golden retriever who wasn’t perfect and a new electronic gadget not to be conquered. If Bryan is to look like his dad in the decades we have ahead, then I know my husband will stay handsome forever.
Happy Father’s Day, Sande.