He had a waterbed. That was the only furniture we had when we started out. He loved His bed. I, however, was not thrilled with the sloshing and rolling, not to mention the cold. He loved the cold. It had a heater and He was willing to turn it on for me, but it never even warmed up to tepid. We slept on that bed for a year, and I was uncomfortable every single night. I didn't complain (at least that's how I remember it).
I don't usually give Him much credit for being perceptive. This is one time I have to give it to Him. He told me that He was going to make me a new bed. His woodworking skills were limited to junior high shop class. That did not limit His enthusiasm for the idea of building me a bed. He asked me what I wanted and to draw Him a plan. What I wanted was a four poster, mahogany colored, queen sized bed that sat high off the ground. I visualized an exotic Caribbean plantation bed. He and His dad worked on it for a couple months in the shop behind His parents house. He delivered a version pretty close to my dreams.
This is the romanticized version of the story. I am sure I complained about the waterbed, as well as His attachment to it. In all likelihood it was probably a point of contention. This is not what I dwell on though. What matters is that: one- He gave up what He wanted; two- He asked me what I wanted; three, He put forth His best effort to make me happy; and four-He did it in a timely fashion.
He built it...
...one more reason I love Him