For Dear Hubby

Fourteen years ago today, I became a ‘Mrs’.  I’d like to say that had been my lifelong dream and that Dear Hubby completes me, but that’s not entirely accurate.  Actually, blogging is about as close as I’ve come to what I originally had in mind for my life’s path and, without a boss to tell me no and, occasionally an internal filter, it’s quite a blast!  Besides, I was a person before and am still one today, although I seem to have gone from Me to Wife to Mom.

It took him six months to ask me out, a bit of quirkiness I still find endearingly charming, however, I quickly discovered this was his approach to dang near everything.  Sometimes, if he waits around long enough, I’ll make the decision, which he will tell you, frees him from all blame should the schmidt hit the fan.

His boss once complimented him on what a sweet wife he has in me.  His response?  She’s only nice to strangers.  What a guy, but to be completely fair, sometimes I’m not nice to them, either!

Dear Hubby’s idea of romance is to ask ‘Did you shave your legs?’  Charming.  If I grow it like the hippie-chick out at the commune, will you give me a pass?

I frequently grouse that a complaint filed with the Better Business Bureau is in order, because what he advertised sure as shootin’ is not what I got.  I mean, the entire time we dated (4 years, 10 months), he was The Perfect Gentleman.  After the ‘I-dos’, he was an altogether different specimen.  Three weeks post-honeymoon and I started thinking when the heck are you going home, dude.  I must say, he’s been cured of leaving the toilet seat up, if only because he got tired of my nagging (his words, not mine…it’s not nagging if it’s instructive in nature).

I’d like to wax rhapsodic about Dear Hubby, but sarcasm not poetry, if my forte.  I tell him, lovingly mind you, on occasion that he ruined my best-laid plans.  I’m supposed to be living it up among the chic, thin, fabulously fabulous people; where, I’m not sure; doing what, I’ve no clue.  He smirks and does that doofy giggle/chuckle thing like Woody from Toy Story, you know, when Bo Peep tells him she got someone to watch the sheep.  Oh, just watch the movie already!

Thanks to him, I’ve learned any number of interesting tidbits, life lessons and assorted crapola no one else, but me, would care about:

1. If he’s out of town, every single stinking TV channel will be running a John Wayne, Chuck Norris, Bruce  Lee or Jean-Claude VanDamme marathon

2. The mere brush of my jeans-clad posterior against his fully restored 1968 Plymouth Roadrunner, can and will, elicit horrified shrieks the likes of which you will typically hear from doomed cheerleader-types in bad slasher movies

3. A well-placed elbow is an all-natural, hormone-free, no animals were harmed in the making of this product, cure-all for snoring (I think this is my favorite)

4. I’m really quite fond of his Jim Carrey/Ace Ventura ‘DO. NOT. GO. IN. THERE!’ rendition as he exits the bathroom.  What can I say, I find toilet humor…humorous!

I once read that a good marriage is where each half of the couple thinks they got more than they asked for and better than they deserve.  Some days, I’m not sure what the poor man thinks he got handed.  Me?  I got gold.

Happy Anniversary, Babe!

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