Six Undeniable Reasons Why I’m a Very Lucky Woman
Things I do that I think are charming, but my husband says are decidedly not charming.
Sometimes in the early mornings, I like to sit in my backyard and think about this weird life I’ve crafted for myself. I say weird because it’s weird AF, you guys. It’s weird because I don’t know how I received the treasures that I’ve come to love so dearly.
Things like my beautiful children and the inflatable swimming pool in our backyard that I laze upon in an enormous unicorn-shaped floaty while drinking beer and yelling at my beautiful children, “Go get Mama another icy-pop; she’s a hot one out today!”
But mostly, I think about how lucky I am to have somehow tricked my husband into loving me. Jamie is a very cool guy. He’s cultured and smooth when speaking to strangers. He can fix just about anything, and he is exceptionally handsome. People love him, and when they meet me by extension, they wonder, “Huh. Odd match.”
Of course, Jamie didn’t know that after ten years of marriage, we would evolve into the people we are now, which is likely a good thing. He’s a pretty private person, so if he’d have known I would eventually start slinging my sex stories and embarrassing moments all over the internet, it seems that might have been a deal-breaker all those years ago.
To his credit, he never gets too angry about my TMI stories and instead kisses me on the forehead and says, “It’s great that you’re gaining popularity, hun. Soon I’ll be able to quit my job and start up that llama farm I’ve always dreamed about.”
He knows how much the idea of fame and fortune turns me on.
The guy puts up with so much from me. Sometimes I worry that it will all come crashing down around me. He’ll figure it out. He’ll figure me out — I’m not as cool as he thinks I am.
Recently I voiced these concerns to Jamie, and he just laughed, saying, “Oh Lind-Bae, I know you aren’t cool. That’s why I love you so much.”
Um, thank you?
Here are just a few instances when I think I’m unbelievably cute and charming, but my husband has advised me that I am just being my usual awkward self.
When I dance.
Oh, how I love dancing. The thing is, I am a notoriously terrible dancer. Everyone knows it. For a long time, I never danced because I was scared of what people would think about my terrible dancing skills. Now though, I dance all the time. One might even go as far to say that I dance as if no one is watching.
I’m partial to a sweaty half-sexual half-jig sort of dance routine. Preposterously, I tap my tippy toes aggressively on the floor to the beat of whatever rap song is playing at the moment, swing my arms in a pirate-like yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum motion, and sway my hips like I’m Shakira.
Jamie will walk in on me dancing in such a way and say, “Please. Don’t do that.”
Then I will sashay my way closer to him and start dry humping his leg to try to seduce my man. This rarely works, but he’ll start laughing at me, so I feel like it’s a win.
“It’s just so funny to see this tiny 35-year-old mother of two jamming out to hardcore rap and trying her best to dance to it,” he says while attempting to push my writhing body away from his.
“It’s to help me write poetry!” I scream but that’s only a half-truth. I actually just really like this genre of music. Listening to well-done rap music helps me understand rhyme and meter better. It glues the words and rhythms to the side of my brain and allows me to think up some sick rhymes myself.
When I meet his friends.
For as long as I can remember, I always thought I had a great first impression personality. This is to say; I assumed people LOVED me right off the bat. This is because I’ve always believed I am incredibly charming. Also, I don’t have much in the ways of self-awareness.
It turns out my introverted personality combined with my social awkwardness does not bode well in this whole meeting new people thing. Sometimes I come off as half normal if I put on my fake I’m-a-normal-adult-woman hat. But where’s the fun in that?!
I’ve recently decided (much like the dancing thing) that I must show my true colours to all who meet me. I want to be as transparent with new potential pals as I possibly can. So I speak in alliterative sentences, and I dance for them. Then I woo them with my impeccable rhyming skills.
Jamie has learned to accept my terrible first impressions, and I suspect he warns people of this before bringing them home to meet me.
When I say, “I don’t feel good.”
I guess I don’t even think of this as charming.
But I do assume that Jamie will feel sorry for me when I wail about my laundry list of health problems. I imagine him enfolding me in his arms and nursing me back to health all romantically and shit. Instead, he has taken to carrying around a checklist and marking off all of the various ailments that inflict my withering body daily.
Ailments I mention daily include (but are not limited to):
- Stomach ache
- Brain fog
- Kidney pain
- Ear pimple that has ruptured and now dripping blood down my ear canal
- Bunions acting up
- Razor burn
- My left eye won’t stop twitching
- The debilitating fear that my hiccups will never stop
- Dehydrated and cannot find the only water bottle that I can drink water from
- Heart palpitations
- Bloaty but refuse to fart in front of him, so instead continue to complain about being bloaty
- Weird taste in the back of my throat
- Dying of starvation but can’t think of anything good to eat
When I neglect the housework for weeks on end.
Because “My creative genius is flourishing right now!”
When I allow the children to get away with murder.
Because their creative genius is flourishing right now.
When we make plans with another couple
But then I immediately cancel those couple plans when I’m feeling even the slightest bit down because I couldn’t possibly expend the necessary energy entertaining guests in my current state.
I am so incredibly self-serving that it had never occurred to me that this may annoy my husband in our ten years of marriage. I just assumed he had wanted to cancel plans too. I thought I was the good guy by being the bad guy and calling the shot to cancel the plans!
Only recently did I become aware that Jamie is a social butterfly, so my plan-cancelling nature really ticks him off.
If you, too, are a socially awkward weirdo who hates plans and loves rap music, this eccentricity that my husband has to live with may sound like a blast. Perhaps you are about to get in touch with me because you want to move in and coinhabit a strange socially outcast life together.
But unfortunately, it can’t all be tomfoolery and hijinks. Eventually, the low days come. And they always do come. I will have had a great couple of weeks, but then the pressures of life seem to fall upon me, stopping all of the good times in their tracks. The dancing is replaced with sobbing over worries that are far beyond my ability to control. I will wake up wondering if it’s too early to just go back to bed. Every tiny thing infuriates me, and I can imagine I am just a joy to be around.
That’s when my wonderful husband will hold me tight and tell me everything is going to be okay, even if it’s not okay at the moment. He puts on Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me,” our wedding song, and we go about our business while listening to the music that brought us together in the first place.
He sticks by me through the tough times, puts up with me through my best times, and laughs with me through the rest.
And that’s why whenever I am done contemplating our lives together, I creep into our room to watch him sleep. There, while he slumbers peacefully, I loudly whisper into his ear, “I love you, sweet prince. Never change.”
Then once waking him with this weird confession, I exit the room, leaving him to wonder why the hell he married this strange little rap-dancer in the first place.
Lindsay Brown is a writer, who would be super fun to live with for the record. You can find more of her work HERE!
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