12.17.2025

I miss my husbands.

To be clear, I’m not talking about the ’til death do us part husbands. I’m talking about work husbands—those genuinely good guys you spend your days with, become friends with, occasionally disagree with, slog through impossible projects with… and then go home without.

I’ve been lucky. In every place I’ve worked, I’ve had the best work husbands a gal could ask for. And I think I’ve been a decent work wife in return. I’ve edited their children’s college essays (work-stepchildren?), quietly teamed up with their wives to suggest anniversary gifts, and offered advice—only when asked—about raising teenagers. (Grit your teeth. This, too, shall pass.)

Today, I’m thinking of one work husband in particular.

Like clockwork, he sends me a text every holiday. Known for his down-to-earth sensibilities and his talent for getting straight to the point, his messages are simple and heartfelt: Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.

Our birthdays are a week apart. My texts are effusive: “Happy birthday! Wishing you a healthy, happy year. My best to your family!"

”His replies are predictable, comforting, and 100% him: “You, too.”

It was that predictability that made him indispensable to me at my last job. He was so steady, so reliable, that I started calling him my Wing Man.

Here's one example:

Every year our company sponsored a booth for a local non-profit. We had a table, equipment, and refreshments to serve—plus the chance to “soft sell” our products. What guests don’t realize is that when they arrive at an event and everything looks ready, it’s because someone (or several someones) quietly wrangled the logistics. They don’t think about who prepped the food, who set the table, or who remembered the ice. Why should they? They came to have a good time, not think about the backstage crew.

I dreaded each and every one of those corporate events. Even though our company’s culinary team ordered the food and supplied every last logo-embellished tablecloth, cup, and napkin, my anxiety bucked to life like a bronco starting its first rodeo.

Wing Man always volunteered to work the events with me. Even though he is as much—perhaps more—of an introvert than I am, he just…handled things. Without being asked.

Our conversations went something like this:

“Wing Man, is the—”“—Ice is already in the cooler.”

“What about the—”“—Tablecloths are in the bag.”

“Do we have—”“An extra extension cord? It's right here.”

It was that kind of marriage. Disney princesses should be so lucky.

So, as I mark what would have been my tenth anniversary this week with my former employer, I just want to say:

Wing Man, you were the best work-spouse anyone could ask for. I hope retirement continues to bring you every joy—more celebrations, more adventures, more time with your amazing family. Wishing you a very healthy and happy new year."

And I can already hear his reply:“Thanks. You, too.”

*The Way You Do the Things You Do, 1964, is also the title of a song peformed by The Temptations, and written by Smokey Robinson and Bobby Rogers.