All About My Husband
Several people have written me wanting to know more about my husband.
"I know alot about you," someone wrote, "But almost nothing about him!"
This post should clear things up a bit.
His story is a long and sad one.
He was born in the wagon of a travelling show. His mama had to dance for the money they'd throw. His papa would do whatever he could: Preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of Dr. Good.
Wait a minute, that's not his life story, that's a song by Cher.
OK, let's start over.
We'll begin with his description. He's very tall, and very handsome. People swoon and hold their breaths as he walks by because he's so totally and incredibly gorgeous. (Kind of like the Girl from Ipanema, except he's not a girl, and he's not from Ipanema.) He could very easily be a model for Abercrombie and Fitch.
Wait, did I say he was tall? He's a short guy, barely comes up to my waist.
And he's not what you'd call handsome, really. As a matter of fact, he looks like he fell off the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. He looks like Billy Barty in Masters of the Universe.
No wait, now that I think of it, he's pretty average. Not tall, not short, not handsome or ugly. He's kind of plain, really. Nondescript. He's not anyone you'd particularly notice in a crowd.
He's old and wise looking. And wrinkled. You take one look at him and you just want to iron him.
Wait, did I say he was old? Actually, he's younger than I am with the clear-skinned fresh-faced look of youth.
He's young enough to be my son, really.
Well, not really. More accurately, he's just old enough to be my father's son. (But he's not. That would make him my brother and that would be incestuous.)
He's got very fair skin and straight spiky yellow-blond hair and eyes the crystal blue color of the morning sky.
No, his eyes are the rich, bright grass-green color of emeralds.
Wait a minute, his eyes are brown, actually. And so is his hair. And his skin is brown too, now that I think about it.
As a matter of fact, he's as black as the ace of spades. In the dark, all you can see are his eyes and teeth.
Actually, he's more of a tanned, sun-kissed light golden brown. Like a pancake, except without the butter or syrup. (Well, I did cover him in butter and syrup once, but that's not really relevant and I probably shouldn't even go there.)
Is everything clear to you, yet?
The husband asked me not to show his picture or reveal anything about him, because he doesn't want his business out there, and I have to respect that.
In fact, his initial might not even be G. It could just as easily be F, X, or Z.
I'm not swearing to anything, OK?
He is male, though. I can tell you that much. Definitely and absoloutely male.
And I love him with all my heart. That much is true, also.
Tell you what, whenever I mention the husband just think of your favorite leading-man type movie star, or even your favorite action-adventure hero.
Chances are he doesn't look anything like that, but it will at least give you something to visualize.