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My husband won’t use bodywash. Only soap. He doesn’t like receiving gifts, so I thought that buying him something I know he likes would be the key.
Except I made the mistake of buying fancy soaps. They aren’t girly, but they are tropical, or minty, or (gasp!) moisturizing.
That’s not what he wants. He wants boring, blue, “squeaky clean” soap. The kind with names like Zest, or Irish Spring.
That’s okay with me, because the fancy soap I bought him from Lush smells amazing, and now it’s all mine. The best kind of gifts are the ones that keep on giving (to me).
I feel terrible for admitting it. This is not how a new wife is supposed to feel. But…
I don’t cry when That Husband leaves on business for 3-4 (sometimes 5) days during the week.
Maybe it’s because I resigned myself to this lifestyle when I decided I wanted to marry him. Or maybe (and this, I believe, is the real reason) it’s because I’m independent enough to do okay without him.
When he is gone I can be selfish. I make dinner when I want it, I play loud music when it pleases me (though it doesn’t seem to please our upstairs neighbor), I consume less waste so I don’t have to get up early to take the trash out every MWF, and I can leave the dishes in the sink for days just because I feel like it.
I try my best to be a model stay at home wife whenever he returns. The kitchen is clean, the dishwasher is running, dinner is on the table, the bed is made, the sheets are washed, the house is vaccumed, the dirty clothes hamper is empty, the clean clothes are put away, and this week there will even be pictures hung on the walls that weren’t there before. I kiss him hello and give him my best June Cleaver smile.
I realize that when we have kids this selfishness will be a thing of the past, and it’s likely that our arguments will revolve around how often he is gone and how difficult it is for me to cope with that. But that is then, and this is now.
Except I will say that I feel a little pang of regret when he calls to say he will be home Friday instead of Thurdsay. And that the bed sometimes feels really cold without him next to me (albeit at least an arms length apart). And I miss our hugs, and our kisses, and our nightly scripture study. And I miss feeling like I can take care of him when he scrounges around the kitchen for a snack. And the way he says “hon” and the clothes he leaves on the bedroom floor without fail every single morning when he is home.
So there are no tears, just a little bit of sadness.
Last night when I left the house That Husband was still away on business so I did something crazy.
I wore purple tights.
And I put my hair up all messy and crazy.
To me, these things represent what it was like when I was single. When I was single I could dress and look the way only I wanted, all the time. That Husband doesn’t “make” me dress any certain way, but I know he prefers it. I’ve written before about his distaste for red lipstick and red high heels, and now you know how he doesn’t like colored tights either.
Some might say I am repressing who I am to be with him, but I don’t think of it that way. Yes, I get dressed and try to look good for myself, but in many ways I do it for him too. I am his, and he is mine, and knowing he likes the way I look still makes me feel a little bit prickly inside.
So I keep my purple tights (and my sparkly gold ones too) tucked away in a drawer, saving them up for a time when he isn’t around. Those are the times when I expirement a little bit. I put them on because I like checking to see if that fun single lady is still alive under this often boring married exterior.
Friday night was That Husband’s company Christmas party, a chance to wear the cocktail dress I bought 2 weeks ago. One of us (you can go ahead and guess which one) almost had an outfit related breakdown as we were getting ready to walk out the door, but through much trial and tribulation we were able to make it out of the door.
I insisted we take a picture outside of our front door to document our hotness. One with my coat on, and one with it off. Now I understand why it is hard for photographers to have pictures of themselves and their families (not that I consider myself a photographer) but when I am the subject I can’t really be playing with the settings to capture the perfect shot. Resulting in photos such as this one with no cute peep-toe heels in the frame.
The party was held at the Texas Stadium.
The first thing you see when upon entering is the bar. I’m sure the bartenders loved filling up our Ginger Ales all night. It’s always funny to get the double take at an open bar when I say “Ginger Ale please. No, nothing else, just Ginger Ale.”
I loved the salad bar. I went through and chose my ingredients, they were tossed together, it was topped off with croûtons and a bread stick and served in a martini glass.
My salad was amazing, and I’m sad I didn’t go back for another round. What is it about food served in a martini glass that makes it so fun?
The entire meal was built around stations with small plates. Look at that huge piece of meat! This was toward the end of the party when we were leaving. Having worked in catering before I know how much of that food will just be thrown in the garbage.
I made sure that we both filled up on as much of the food as possible. I wanted to milk that free meal for all it was worth.
Lately I’ve been hearing stories of company parties where spouses aren’t invited. I’m glad I made it on the guest list. Also, I have bad posture.
I take so many picture, That Husband isn’t even fazed when I whip out my camera to take random pictures.
The view from our table included this football game. Kind of a boring one with the final score being 7 to 43. Must have been some small schools, since Royal City usually has that many people at their football games, huge stadium or not!
Those who were boozing it up took advantage of the lounge seating spread throughout the room.
I was very excited to explore the cupcake bar when it was time for dessert. I didn’t like the black, white, or pink frosting that much, but the 4th option was made with Kalua and I was worried about leaving the party a little tipsy if I gave it a try.
I wound up creating this, which I couldn’t even finish. The cupcake was dry an the frosting was overly sweet, but it was very fun to make.
As you can see, I decided to go keep the cute little heels with the bow. I wasn’t on my feet very long, but they didn’t hurt at all. Thanks to That Husband for 2 great date nights this week!
Tonight, after driving to four different locations on the outskirts of Dallas to find a craft store (I don’t know why google has so many dead addresses on file), I arrived home around 8:00 pm to find That Husband had just arrived home also, and he was starving. It was bad. The situation became really bad when I realized that the rice cooker didn’t turn on when I walked out the door like I thought.
I had to think fast for dinner because he was already rummaging around in the kitchen asking about a pre-dinner snack. I decided on chicken salad sandwhiches and tomato soup. The chicken salad was made with chicken, tomatoes, celery, honeycrisp apple, mayonnaise, ginger, and garlic (and pretty good for right off the top of my head). The soup was my favorite kind of tomato, and I thought I had saved the day with my quick thinking.
Turns out I was wrong because TH hates celery. Hates it with a passion, and picked it out of his chicken salad like a little child. I couldn’t be mad at him for it because he was smart and thanked me for the dinner I had made before telling me he sort of hated it.
Then he mentioned that he had been thinking it would be nice to take a lunch to work with him the next day. I was a good wife and packed it up in a little tupperware container with pieces of bread safely packaged in a plastic bag, after removing all of the celery from the mix.
Then I was informed that I had packed his lunch incorrectly. He apparently does not have time at work to slap filling on pieces of bread and eat it. Also, assembling his lunch in such manner would not be considered “cool”. The sandwich must be put together before work, so that it can be eaten while hiding underneath a desk in an effort to keep anyone from knowing he didn’t order out (just kidding about the desk, but not about the sandwich having to be pre-assembled).
What happened to corporate wellness programs and an emphasis on personal wellness?