Thursday, April 30, 2009
This is a re-post from my second entry ever (when no one but my mom was reading this blog) but thought I'd give you ladies a sense of how my wife took the bullet to play Jesus for all womankind to take this stallion off the market. It's really not that bad to be married to me but you need to be medicated.
I guess I can see that being married to me is not necessarily the 24/7 tropical paradise of sweet lovin' and unending happiness that I contextualize it to be in my head. I got married at the end of May (our 1y is coming up!) and was so euphoric that someone would take me in and am continually amazed, happy that she has not runaway from me since. I roll over in bed and she is still there!
So it turns out that sweet, lil' ole' me may, on those rare occasions, be quite exasperatingly annoying. My wife, my 'Babyboo', gave me a good talking to yesterday of some of my adorable quirks inflicted on her, my destiny.
Maybe it is my constant prodding and reminder about how great and amazing she must feel everyday to be married to me and how I would love to be her to be queen for just one day out of the eternity with which she has been blessed.
I defend those gushings as uncontrollable outbursts of my self-diagnosed narcissism similar to the reflexive cursings of tourette's. She pointed out how she is perturbed when we are experimenting in the kitchen with cooking and I proclaim myself executive chef and her the intern. But then again, I do not really have a hand in the cooking but rather just taste, over-season and criticize her doings but come on, that's what the Anthony Bourdain's do these days though.
And maybe this is going overboard but please understand that my fault is that I care maybe too much. Perhaps, during the night when Baby Boo is sleeping, I will apply Clearasil to some of her troubled, oily spots on her visage. I realize this is how you say, 'interesting', but I think the results of magically clear pores in the morning are well worth the creepiness.
And if that was not enough, the straw that broke the camel's back is apparently my proclivity to do a little special dance in public places, for no reason, a la the old school pro wrestler, Ravishing Rick Rude where I put my hands on my head and swing my hips in a gyrating movement. It is objectively stunning, really, so there is no reason for her to hate.
Well anyways, she is a patient woman and I gave her some perspective to give her some relief: while she must spend the weekends with me and maybe 4 waking hours on the weekdays, it is no match for the 12-13 hours of awesomely bad Philness that my co-worker Dana (my work wife) must deal with everyday. And with that faulty logic, the wife actually felt better about it all.