My husband is much too practical to patronize me.
Practical non-patronizer wasn’t exactly on my twenty-three point, “What I want in a husband list,” but it has proved invaluable when it comes to making important decisions.
Such as dressing myself.
Complaints about my weight or the amount of energy expended stuffing myself into my skinny jeans are met with, “You should go running,” not the “You’re not fat, honey,” response that women all over the world wish to hear.
This means I don’t ask if I look fat in something unless I truly want to know. Even if he is too scared to say it aloud, the silent, shifty, uncomfortable look on his face says, “Oh-Crap-What-do-I-do-She-Looks-Fat-But-If-I-Say-Anything-I’m-Not-Going-To-Get-Laid-For-A-Month,” and informs me that I should change.
Or go running.
For the past few months, I’ve been wondering if he’s had a personality change or been convinced by his other married friends to be more tactful.
Every time I wear leggings, he expresses his dislike for them. I, of course, take this to mean that he thinks I look fat in them. Because why else would a man not like skin tight clothing on his wife? I convince myself the anesthesia-school-fat has gotten so bad, he now pities me. Only, he can’t bring himself to tell me I’ve been prancing around town for the past few months with legs that look like I cook my pancakes in bacon grease.
Then I realize I do cook my pancakes in bacon grease… let us move on.
Fast forward to last week.
We’re cuddling in bed, and once again I have insisted on being the little spoon.* Everyone knows being the little spoon is better, although I insist mainly because I want the title ‘little’ referencing me.
As we lay spooning, he grabs my stomach. I promptly exclaim, “Hey! Quit grabbing my fat!”
“I can grab your fat if I want to,” he says.
“But you don’t even like fat,” I point out.
“I like your fat,” he replies.
I pause, think for a moment and then say, “Awww, that might be one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”
He’s silent for a second and says, “I need to come up with better compliments, huh?”
I now rest assured I probably don’t look too terribly fat in my leggings. And maybe, just maybe, he truly doesn’t like them because they look like long underwear.
I know I’m not losing my matter-of-fact wardrobe adviser any time soon -- and that’s just fine with me.
I’m sure your significant other has said something to you equally hilarious. What is it?
* I feel obligated to inform the reading public, that unlike me, my very,very, manly husband does not consider spooning an activity. Despite the fact that he’d rather hear, “let’s climb/bike/ski/run/etc” instead of “let’s spoon!” when he asks me what I want to do at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon, he does it anyway. Which is just one more reason why I love him.
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