Welcome to my first official “Manly Monday” installment, brought to you by me (duh) and inspired by the Hubs. The lovely Stupid Stork posted this concept for a weekly entry a couple of weeks ago–fab idea, Stork! It is here that I will introduce you to the sweaty nether-regions of my marriage, as never seen before! You will not be hearing a lot of sweet sugary things about my manly man, not because there aren’t any to share, but because the point of Manly Mondays is to share those stories which may be a bit…off the beaten path. Buckle up kids.
I wish I had more time to write a post exclusively on the essence of Hubs, but that would take a while. Bottom line: Hubs is the smartest guy I’ve ever met. Seriously. He will kick your ass in Scrabble, play any song on the piano by ear, and do math equations in his head that I’d need one of those scientific calculators to complete. He’ll do all of this, and then pee on the toilet seat because he “forgot” to lift it, which contradicts and yet somehow elevates his cerebral qualities. There is nothing better than accidentally sitting on your husband’s cold piss as you’re barely awake in the morning. Let me tell ya. He knows I do not find this endearing in any way, and has made efforts to correct this habit of not lifting the “girl” toilet seat to pee, but I still get an ass soaked with urine every now and then.
Speaking of urine, Hubs and I have never attempted a golden shower, but we have discussed the possibility, and mutually agreed that it would have to be done in the shower if it was ever attempted–which will most likely not be until we’re at least in our 50s, and bored as shit.
You never want to be caught negotiating or haggling over the price of anything with Hubs. You WILL sell him things for waaaay less than the ticket price. I experienced this for the first time when we were buying our mattress. It was originally marked at $5000, but the generous store was taking 50% off! A steal! I was ready to make a deal right then and there. Hubs gave me his signature slow sideways glance, and for the next 30 cringe-worthy minutes proceeded to haggle with the mattress guy using some mathematical mattress calculations and tax percentages that the poor guy couldn’t keep up with. He whittled the cost of our mattress down to $1,000 including tax and shipping.
Hubs and I high five each other. A lot. It’s our cute way of acknowledging that the other kicks ass. Examples of this include: His mattress negotiating abilities, finding a $5 coupons for Gelsons, successfully managing to work the leaf blower, or waking up at 5AM to wait in line and buy Book of Mormon tickets (he’s a straight musical theater junkie–like me!). We also high five a lot after sex (did I mention Hubs and I have hawt sex? Not just hot. Hawt.) Unfortunately, my libido is not always up to the task (if Hubs had his way, we’d be sexing it up daily, I’m a twice a week kind of gal). Hubs has the libido of a 12 year old boy who just discovered porn, which I am eternally grateful for since I loose patience easily, and had a boyfriend in college who would drink a lot and then be unable to perform.
Hubs is the most emotionally open man I have ever met. He wears his heart (and basically every other one of his feelings) on his sleeve. He is not afraid to cry, and did so at the end of Annie Hall the other day, which made my heart melt.
Hubs has classifications for my pubic hair, depending on how lazy I am about its upkeep. He categorizes it into porn magazine decades: 70s bush is hairy scary (I’ve only let it get that way a few times) 80s bush is still pretty hairy, but definitely manicured. 90s bush is very short or clean shaven, and early 00’s bush is totally bald (FYI–I have never gone early 00’s with my bush. Tried it once in my early 20s, and I just don’t have the vagina that works with that style–sort of like when I tried “Rachel” hair in 1996. Big disaster.)