Monday, August 23, 2010


(yes, this title is a Depeche Mode reference)

I know I've been lame and sappy before. And I know I've whined at the other end of the spectrum too. But there are times - sometimes weeks on end, like lately - when almost every single moment of observing/contemplating my husband is one of extreme gratitude and appreciation.

He is no saint. I will not go into all the small, hilarious ways in which he makes it clear just how human he is. He's aware of this blog and has read it, but we haven't discussed my writing about him here to the point where I can be that specific, even though I'm sure he'd be fine and I'd love to share the hilarity. But I digress (so shocking!). My point is that I could elaborate ad infinitum on the myriad behaviors/incidents/tendencies that illustrate exactly why rose-colored glasses would never suit my vision prescription in terms of my darling dearest. It wouldn't pertain.

We've had difficult times and blissful times. But sometimes, like lately, we synch up so much that we complete what would be a sickening number of each others' sentences if someone else were present. Our views line up. Our plans line up. Our dirty thoughts line up. What we want for the future is close enough to identical that it validates all the decisions that led up to me deciding he really was the one I wanted, and all the decisions since then.

And I see him in a light that allows those small flaws to show, but at the same time illuminates all that is smart and funny and awesome and right for me, and he fucking glows. GLOWS! For days or weeks on end.

Though things like this
make me sick,
in a case like this
I'll get away with it...

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