Day Three-Ninety-Seven: Artistic genius

The onslaught of kindness to the wife has officially begun! I spent last night mentally prepping a dozen ways I could win her to my heart, and today I set that plan into proper motion. Like I said, bodily hygiene was just the START.

Granted, today's attempt didn't work that well. BUT I'M STILL GETTING WARMED UP.

I reached into my many memories of Libby since we got married, and for some reason one of the most prominent was her creation of a sculpture for King Jeffrey's Jeffmas. You were here, diary, you remember: she made a life-sized representation of the king out of wood and presented it to him. And he loved it! Set it in his throne room, he did. And, hell, if SHE can be all artsy-fartsy, why can't Dragomir? Eh?

Not being a sculptor in any sense of the word, I decided to render my wife somewhat different: through a sketch. I spend a lot of my down time doodling, and though my previous attempts at drawing Libby didn't turn out so well, I also spent very little time on them. Today's drawing would be DIFFERENT.

And not only would it be different, it would be framed. (That's the only good idea The Baron ever gave me.)

I spent hours, HOURS, crafting the perfect sketch. I went looking for books with pictures in 'em, and I used almost a dozen different references to help me in drawing my wife. Hell, occasionally I even looked at her, as I could see her through one of the windows in the pub, yelling at her carpenters not to break the water wheel. (Honestly, those guys. She coulda been done by now if she'd been working on her own, but noooo, she has to teach these nincompoops how to build stuff all proper…)

I poured everything I feel about Libby into the picture. All the love, affection, thankfulness and, yes, grief. Libby gives me grief. Wives do that to husbands, just like husbands do to wives. I'm not onea those guys who idealizes his partner in every situation, diary, in case you'd been thinking that. I take Libby as she is: an ornery woman. Lovely and kind and generous and stuff, but ornery. I totally took that into account.

And, ah, maybe that's where the picture went wrong. Maybe I shoulda stuck with idealized.

I presented the nicely-framed-and-finished product to Libby at dinner. I beamed at my accomplishment; Grayson pointed and laughed, the little prick; and Libby… Libby… well, Libby asked what it was.

Looking at it again now, I can see why she asked.

"It's you!" I insisted, pointing at the nose. "Can't you see? It looks just like yours! I spent half an hour getting' it perfect!"

Libby tweaked her own nose, then squinted at the picture. "… I don't see it."

"No, no, serious! Look closer, c'mon, look closer. Think of it, like, ah, onea those 3D mural things. You just have to concentrate on the right part for a while."

She did, thoughtfully chewing on her bowl of minced winterweed. After a while she shrugged. "Dunno. Whatever it is, it's ugly as hell."

"Ugly," Grayson agreed. "Don't know what that's supposed to be, daddy."

"Quiet, you." I shot him a dirty glance. "C'mon, you… you really don't see yourself?"

"If that's how you see me," Libby said, sneering, "then ya must be blind. Or I must be the sorest sight ever spat out a womb. Go on, get that outta here, it's foulin' my appetite."

So, yeah, that didn't work. I sadly set the picture aside and set upon my own bowl of winterweed, half-listening as Libby complained about the fare. She'd gotten used to eating from our meat stores, which, regretfully, are running low now that we've run out of Antonia-tenderized animals. Bora's cut down on our meat portions. Sigh.

But I'm not giving up. I will SHOW LIBBY MY LOVE, and she will RECOGNIZE IT, and she will FORGIVE ME for that thing I did which she knows nothing about, namely having a meal with another woman.

She will. Just watch.

Sincerely,

Dragomir the Mayor