Many of my friends and family often hear me speaking about how much I love my husband. It’s a fact. And to hear me talk, one might think he is all gushy and romantic. Truth be told, he is…just not like a movie or a romance novel. Honestly, the first half of our marriage I thought there might be something wrong with me. Maybe my breath stunk or my curvy (fat) butt was a turn-off because my husband NEVER did the things movies said he should. This scared me because he did when we were dating.
What took me a few years (not the brightest light in the room) to figure out was he was pretending when we were dating. That was NOT who he really was. He simply did those things to attract me. Goodness, men have a lot to live up to. So this led me to ask myself if I was in love with a lie. I was young when we married, so this wasn’t too much of a stretch to think this.
I pondered US for a long time.
For months I watched him very closely. When he was mad, happy, sad, tired, hungry…or any other way he could be. What I learned is I did love this grumpy man that rarely buys flowers, shiny gifts, or says things just to appease my shallowness. I found a man that said what he meant without fluff or frill. If I asked him if my butt looked big he just smiled, wise enough to know there is no right answer to that. If I cried, he wrapped me in strong arms and said nothing because he was smart enough to know I needed to cry it out, even though it nearly killed him to hear me cry. If I was mad, he walked away, knowing once it was said it couldn’t be taken back. I found a man that loved me so deeply he knew every emotion I had and knew exactly how to make it right or leave it alone.
That meant I had a man that had studied me and knew me better than I knew myself on most days, and I was ashamed that I had not given him as much attention. I had fallen for the lie…I was the lie. It took me the better part of ten years to realize he had been saying I love you… you are beautiful…I know you like my skin all along. I made it my goal to pay closer attention from that moment on. I can now translate the swoon of a manly-man.
<strong>Peace, love and God’s will.</strong>
[This was originally posted at another blog.]
Yep, Diane, we could chat. Married a manly, honest, logical man myself. If I said, “Do these pants make my butt look big?” He’d say, “It’s not the pants.” Because face it, it’s not. Yet he has loved me equally through fat pants and little pants, because he loves me. He doesn’t buy flowers, because he says, “they just die.” To which I always reply, “So will I.” It hasn’t worked yet. Though he encourages me to buy all the flowers I want if it makes me happy. The movies LIE, lucky for me, my Dear Hubby never does.
The relief I felt when I finally realized is indescribable. And, yes, whether they are wiggly or boney bits, Quinton loves me all the same. Much better than the ditzy movie versions of love.