Even after 4 days of camping stink with my greasy hair and ape like legs, he can still look into my make-up- less eyes and tell me I'm beautiful with nary a choke or guffaw.
Even when I'm sick, or had one too many green apple Martinis, or a nicotine lozenge, and my head is bent over the loo, mascara running down my face, barf splay in my hair, he will tell me I'm beautiful. Stupid, but beautiful.
Even when I feel fat (ok, look fat) he thinks I'm beautiful.
So beautiful, in fact, that he posts (and tags) pictures of me all over his facebook page. Yes, even the fat pictures. It's almost endearing. Almost.
Silly man. Most of the time he has a pretty good understanding of women, but this one he just doesn't get. He can't conceive the feeling of dread that washed over me one recent morning when I opened my email and saw the "Fred tagged a picture of you on his Facebook Wall!" announcement seven times in my inbox.
My heart sank and my fingers trembled as I clicked on each message and saw one picture after another, each one more horrendous then the next. I saw my own wide face smiling back at me and my chubby arms, well, they were just hanging there...chubbily. I was mortified.
But my husband was quite proud that he had dug up these photos to share with the world.
What could I do? This was one of the very reasons why I loved him so. I sighed, posted a few joking remarks about myself, like, "Hottie, hottie, two-by-four," and made myself a martini. It was 8 AM.
One of the not so bad pictures my husband posted
It was a costume party...I'm kind of diggin the blond!