DON'T QUOTE THE RAVEN: 10 Ways I Have Changed My Husband For The Better

10 Ways I Have Changed My Husband For The Better

6.25.2014

Labels: birthdays, if you really knew my husband, my husband

I swear he does it on purpose. I don't even know how, or why, but it's like he knows that tomorrow is his birthday and I was about to write a lovey dovey mushy gushy post dedicated soley to him and his amazingness and then he got afraid of what I might say so he pissed me off royally and on purpose and so my post criteria has changed.

Ha. You were afraid before, Robby?

Well then let's go. I now present to you:

10 Ways I Have Changed My Husband For The Better.

1. His style. I'm sure I've mentioned it before, but one of the main reasons I rejected Rob's advances the first fifteen times he asked me out was because of his jeans. Three words: tight, high-waisted and tapered. Tapered. I mean, you could see his socks for christ's sake. Now? I do all the shopping and let's just say the words "snazzy" and "dapper" have been thrown around a few times. You're welcome.

2. Death By Loofah. Before I even met my husband, he was obsessed with lotions and potions from places like Bath & Body Works. He doesn't use just soap, never has. He likes the coconut/vanilla/salt sand and sea scented body washes. Great! I love those too. He also only washes via loofah, which I think is fantastic. I mean, we all know men have extra dingleberries hanging around back there so the use of a loofah is crucial. However. My husband never replaced the loofah. Like, ever. When I met him, his current loofah was disintegrating by the second, looked like an old worn rag and I couldn't even tell what the original color was. Basically, I fixed that up in a heartbeat. Gave him loofah-disease-and-infestation/rash-when-used-more-than-30-days 101 and have since been purchasing us both new loofahs every month since 2002. Again, you're welcome.

3. R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Speaking of loofahs, alright now, let's get down to it. What is yours, is mine, and what is mine…is mine! Especially my loofah! You can't even imagine my horror when I walked in to the bathroom one day early on in our relationship and witnessed my burly, hairy, contaminated husband scrubbing himself down with my loofah! Oh haaaaaaaaaaay'll no! Boy, I'll let your thingy majig touch lots of things, but not my loofah! (We now have a system in place: only two colored loofahs grace our shower...purple and blue. Purple = princess and blue = boy. Easy peasy. Don't get it twisted.)

4. Appreciation for the color pink. I don't know about you, but guys in hot pink…meow! Before I met my husband, he didn't even think of wearing pink clothing. Neon blue high-waisted super short swim trunks? Yes. But neon pink anything? No. Now, his favorite articles of clothing are a few pink items I chose for him. Real men wear pink? More like real men dominate pink.

5. Pillow Etiquette. As in, no actually, that pillow you just molested between your legs all night is not what I wanted when I said "give me back one of the pillows you stole." No. When you are married to a woman, and she asks for one of her pillows back, she means the cleanest softest most fluffiest non-penis disturbed pillow in the house.

6 & 7. Gunner and Colt. Best kids ever. Created by us, however, birthed, raised, bathed, fed and kept alive daily by me. I think I deserve a raise.

8. Clarity. When we are sitting there on the couch, after a hearty dinner I have just made you, and as we are watching some show with hot ass slutty whore psycho bitches…when I ask you if you think the one with her nipples showing is hot…the answer is always no. I'm glad you learned this lesson early on, as you have no idea how "slutty whore psycho bitch" I can be.

9. Never make fun of me when I cry during an episode of Grey's Anatomy. You learned that one that hard way, didn't you sweetie?

10. Humility. I know a true woman never reveals her age, but damn boy, 49?! That's like, practically expired. I guess I should stop shopping for you at Abercrombie & Fitch…you have now delved into the world of…gulp…St. John's Bay. Shudder.

Oh.

And ps.

Happy freaking birthday.