All of the Valentine talk has gotten me thinking about my husband and how he is completely devoid of romance or romantic ideas. I have a little story to illustrate my point. Those of you that know me well have heard this story, so please forgive the repetition.
When my husband and I were dating, I asked him about some of the girls he had dated in the past. He mentioned that he had thought about asking out one of the girls he worked with. Naturally, I wanted to know more about her, especially because he had decided against it. The conversation went like this.
"I decided not to ask her out," said Ed.
"Why not?," asked Lisa.
"Oh, she was into being thin and tan and pretty. But I like you," said Ed, with a pat on my
I should have recognized right then and there that our relationship would not be full of roses and quiet dinners at dimly lit restaurants. In fact, in our entire 14 years of marriage, I have received one anniversary card and he didn't even sign it. He was probably thinking he could return it the next day and get his money back.
I used to get very bent out of shape when he didn't buy me a birthday or Christmas gift. It took me a few years, but then I realized I have something so much better than any quickly forgotten card or gift. I have a man that likes me best when I'm schlepping around the house in my old sweats, not having showered for a couple of days. He likes extra jiggly skin here and there. And, he does just as much bitch-work around the house as I do. That man is not afraid of housework. All of this probably adds up to some kind of weird fetish, but who cares?!!
So, when people ask me what my husband got me for Christmas or Valentine's Day, I never know what to say. Perhaps this year I should say he gave me the freedom to be fat, white and ugly.