To celebrate twenty-nine years of one truly rad guy, I though I’d pay homage to the hilarious, usually well-intentioned, sometimes downright insulting thoughts my husband shares with me. He doesn’t always run things through the ol’ mental filter, so I often get blindsided with a random comment to which there is no response but a confused stare while I allow him to reformulate his thinking and try again. After that, there is a ballet flat to the jaw.
Here are a few of my favorites.
“Hey, Karate Kid!” (In response to my foray into the precarious world of headband wearing.)
“Oooh, cool. Like Rambo.” (In response to yet another headband attempt. To Clayton, it is actually a compliment when he compares you to a movie from the 80’s. I know, I don’t get it either.)
Me: Can you please put your socks away after I wash and fold them so the dog won’t eat them?
Him: Babe, I’ll try. But I probably won’t.
“It’s okay. You’re Cuban.”
“Wow. Did you get bigger?” (Daily, upon entering the house, for the last three months of my pregnancy.)
Me: I’m going to run 4 miles.
Him: Okay. So I should expect you in a couple hours?
“So that’s why your ears stick out.” (While looking at my tee ball team photo displaying my unfortunate cover-as-much-face-as-possible hat styling choices.)
“Did you guys work out? Smells like you did.” (We didn’t.)
But for every one of those mishandled remarks, there are 100 mornings where I wake up to fresh coffee. For every accidental slight, there are 50 dinners cooked. For every comment about my weight, well, those are actually pretty costly for him.
I love this man so much, and I love celebrating his being in the world.