|
  I once heard a joke about how long it takes women to get ready to go anywhere. I can't remember the joke (probably because I thought it was stupid) but it went something like, "When a woman says she'll be ready in 20 minutes it's like when a man says the football game only has 20 minutes left on the clock."
Or some crap. I don't remember. Like I said, I thought it was stupid. I always thought it was stupid, I guess, because I pretty much turned in my girl card in 1981. I am blessed with really banging hair and further blessed that I wash it every day and do absolutely nothing else to make it banging. I wear make-up but only because I pretty much look like the walking dead if I don't.
Almost everyone I work with is an engineer and it was a very liberating day when I realized they didn't give two craps if I had on one black sock and one blue sock. They are so concerned about being right about everything that I'm not even a blip on their radar.
My husband, on the other hand? I wonder sometimes if he picked up my girl card, liked how it looked and decided to keep it for himself.
My first clue of this came when he and I had not been dating long and he needed to purchase new pants. We went to the store and it took him three and a half hours to find and purchase one pair of pants.
I missed Judge Judy. So he could buy pants.
He, of course, had to try on the pants. My husband cannot merely try on pants, look at himself in the mirror, proclaim all to be right with the world, and move on with his life.
No.
 no comment.
Like there would ever be any situation at work, ever, in which he would need to do a backbend. I mean, come on.
My husband is a large hairy German man. He has no hair on his head, mind you, but he makes up for it in body hair. Body hair which must be meticulously maintained at all times.
"Are my eyebrows symetrical?" he asks, raising them to his non-existant hairline.
The first time he asked me that? I burst into hysterical laughter. I honest to God did not know he was serious. I'd never met a man, any man, who plucked his own eyebrows, trimmed his own nosehair, "cleaned up" his back, or brushed his beard. But he does. All of those things.
This past weekend I was washing dishes and my husband came into the kitchen, pleased.
"Want to see what I did?" he asked.
I told him sure and he raised his arms to show me his armpits.
They weren't shaven or anything, but they were quite obviously trimmed back. Quite.
"Why on Earth would you do that?" I asked.
"I was tired of looking like I had Buckwheat in a headlock," he said, shrugging.
So. I guess I should thank him for that anyway.
Don't get me wrong. I'm glad my husband is clean and neat. I'm glad he's not a big slob and dirty and nasty. I'm glad he has clean fingernails.
I'm just slightly sad sometimes that he's prettier than me. |
That Chick
