I was itching to prattle on further about Good Paper and the
teeth-achingly darling notes I ordered this very day, until I recalled the tags passed along to me by some other very kind blogettes. These delightful forwards alternatively called for me to share fun facts about myself or state some things for which I'm grateful. In predictable fashion - just ask my family- I've altered the rules a bit and bring you just one thing for which I'm grateful; rigid as I am with enforcing Pretty Laws on other people, you'd be surprised how moral relativism appeals when applied to self.
Please allow me to apologize in advance for the perilously high Unicorns-and-Rainbows level of sentimentality that is to follow. Unfortch I'm going to have to bore you with a bit of a love story, which is admittedly rather nauseating and precious of me, but it simply must be done. Fasten your seatbelts, ladies . . .
Have you ever had to have one of
those conversations with your significant other? The one where your stomach is churning and your hair hurts from thinking about it and if only I could make a bargain Upstairs and get out of talking about this and man now my teeth hurt too and did I forget to wear deodorant today because I'm sweating a little and did I mention how nervous I'm feeling and how I wish we were in the "Mad Men" days where I could have a dirty martini before noon so I could drown my thoughts just temporarily and maybe if I eat some more candy corns that will help and how do I talk about this with him and this is icky and where is my comfy blankie and pjs when I need them and oh God now my hands are clammy and I probably smell bad but I can't leave the office today and shoot I forgot to change the load of laundry this morning which is further proof of why I'm a bad wife and person generally and why oh why isn't vodka allowed in the office again?
(((deep, cleansing breaths)))
Just to be clear, I'm talking about news that isn't necessarily terrible - say, in the case of my own Anonymous Husband ("AH"), something like "ESPN is folding so professional sports will no longer be broadcast on television" - or even really my fault, but something that certainly isn't fun, or fits the prettily picket-fenced yard image of the tidily perfect home and life you imagine in your mind, complete with 2.5 kids and tail-wagging dog, and hope others believe in kind.
(((deep, cleansing breaths)))
So I summon my Big Girl Words - sans vodka,
thankyouverymuch - and deliver the news to AH, and . . . grace. AH digests the news and immediately gives me a hug (a good one, big arms and all) and tells me things will be fine and that it isn't a big deal. And, suddenly, it isn't. I literally can breathe again and turn my tired brain to "off" and just wallow in the inexplicably kind man I have the privilege of calling my husband. (Gag, I know. Please bear with me here.)
David Sedaris, the completely genius author you should all be reading right now instead of this rubbish, wrote something about meeting his partner, and how he determined to trick this person, who he saw as more handsome, kind, intelligent, etc. than himself into liking him. Thing is, I immediately knew what he was talking about. I'm not being falsely self-deprecating or begging for compliments here, although it's entirely understandable if you think so given the usual Pretty modus operandi.
One of the few - and I mean few - fabulous things about getting older is realizing how little I know for certain. Knowing that your spouse is a much, much better person than you are, and if you're lucky, you'll get the chance to try and trick that person into liking you for the next 50 years or so, and perhaps pick up on a few of his many good traits yourself, is a tremendous thing to be certain about. And that's news of the grateful, Pretty kind to me.
************************************************************************************
If you're still with me after that schlock, please remember (if you're so inclined) to enter into my supercalifragilistic
Tori Spelling giveaway. I'm almost through it myself, and what a read - the HIGH VOODOO PRIESTESS (I don't often encounter this sort of professional , so I figure she merits Caps Lock treatment) is merely one of many highlights. My BF-J, who is briefly pausing in Texas this weekend between world travels, and I will judge entries over a bottle or five of champagne in utterly non-subjective manner; the lucky winner will be announced on Monday.
