His Point of View* A Reply

[edit]
This is what I see when I see blue jeans.


These are what DW sees:

[/edit Nov. 6]



Ok, ok, now that the air has been filled with a cute fantasy, I’d like to say what really happened.

I’ve NEVER told DW (Darling Wife) what to wear.
All I said was, I once saw my Orchestra director wear blue Jeans (notice not ‘Jeans’, specifically Blue Jeans) and I mentioned to my wife that I just didn’t like the looks of them.

Look, I’m not telling her what to wear; she can wear what she wants. But just as I’m not attracted to trailers to live in, nor do I long for the opportunity to poop at a downtown gas station restroom, it just so happens I – for some reason I do not understand – don’t find BLUE jeans to be appealing. She can wear what she wants. What I’m not going to do is lie and say, ‘Oh my! Now I like them!’ when I don’t, never have. Burlap would look better to my eyes, but that’s just me.

When I pass a store where they have these worn out cut out blue jeans, I often think, GOODNESS, LET ME STOP THROWING THINGS IN THE TRASH, IN 25 YEARS I’M GOING TO BE RICH.

So, now, after 15 years of marriage, just to prove some point, she is wearing them, NOT ONLY because she likes to wear them, oh not at all. Rather, it’s to torture me, because I don’t like them.

I’ve noticed that throughout the years it’s wise if I don’t tell her OTHER things I don’t like, for the frequency of them happening leap through the roof. And, if I do tell her things I DO like, it almost never happens again.

Examples:
‘Wow, I love this particular dish you made. In addition to being nice to me to make a meal for me this week, and I do want to say how grateful I am, I happen to particularly like this combination of ingredients? What do you call it?’

Well, de facto she calls it, ‘I’m going to throw the recipe in the trash and never make it again.’

I actually tested this out, over several months; she made this one dish I liked several times. I would merely say how grateful I was that she cooked, but today it just so happens that such and such was especially pleasing. Sure enough, like the Jews about the Holocaust, ‘never again’.

I started out by telling her that she should wear her hair any way she wanted. So, I guess because she had short hair when I married her, she went through a lot of trouble to grow it out long. One day, blundering away a rook for a pawn, I mentioned, ‘Thank you for going through the trouble to wear your hair long, I really like it.’ Faster than Darth Vader whipping out his light saber to chop in half an enemy of the Emperor, out came the scissors to consign anything longer than two inches to the oblivion of never more.

‘That make up you spent so much time putting on really looks cool.’

Well, to be honest, she’s more refined about that. She’ll wear it when she goes out someplace formal… when I can not attend. I do get to see her wearing make up in photos, specifically those photos when I was working at the time and her sister went in my place.
I do admit she plays piano, which I do like, but only when I’m not in the room. She does play very nicely, and I do enjoy it. Usually she thinks I’m asleep, so I have a chance to listen to it for a while.

Her biggest love in life is reading books. I, however, made the mistake of changing,
‘I don’t mind at all if you read books.

To

‘I think it’s great you read books, here, let me buy you thousands of them!’

Now she won’t touch them.

Hmmm, how can I put this to my advantage?

You know, I really like it when she goes shopping…

And I count myself very fortunate that I ONLY tell her she shouldn’t clean up the house so much. I think she thinks I DON’T want her to clean up, therefore she really does quite a bang up job of keeping the floors clean.

Matter of fact, she really is the perfect wife. She never asks me to work, never asks me for things, never complains about how much I sleep, in fact encourages it, she works like the dickens around the house, minding the fifty kids, feeding them keeping our business going, remembering everything I need from phone numbers to where I left my brains. She's attractive, supportive, the perfect wife. She does so much for me, I'm very lucky, thankful, and I count my blessings every day knowing I got more from heaven than any man has any right to hope for.

I like and love everything about her.


Oh crap. I shouldn’t have written that…




*I refused to call this "The Truth" as he suggested. Seriously! A reply to this.

For Your Own Good, Darling!

One of our many agreements before my darling husband and I got married was that he wouldn't tell me what to wear, how to wear my hair or clothes, and stuff like that. Did I say that right? Yeah, I think I did.

After we got married, I noticed almost right away that D [that's my darling husband], detest jeans. It's a strong dislike, and he wouldn't be caught dead wearing one. It has something to do with an Orchestra teacher. He used to play the violin for years and years.

Anyway, it's really bad for him because I have a great love for jeans. I do. Later on, I am going to hunt around my album and find a picture of me in jeans. I look fabulous in it. I used to anyway. It doesn't really matter if I don't look as fabulous with it now, because I love jeans.

The other day, we have this conversation. I don't exactly remember how it goes, but it's something like this...

DH: We should burn all those jeans
Me: Aren't jeans great?
DH: You could wear them another day (facetiously)
Me: I surely can't darling. I love jeans. I am wearing jeans for your own good. If I stopped, I'll have to call you my a*bus*ive spouse because you told me what to wear!

LOL. Sometimes, I just cracked myself up. That's my point of view. D mentioned writing his point of view of the conversation later. We'll see if he gets around to it.

Bad E-mail! Bad!

It should have been a manic Monday. It's not. It started out great. I fell asleep last night before 10 AM. That's a rare event. I hardly ever go to bed without a protest before midnight. I lay down to fed my baby and I slept all through the night. It's like being tricked into it. My alarm woke me up at 530 AM. I woke up and was actually happy to be up. The house was quiet, clean and all mine!

I should have relished it more, because it's kind of downhill from there.

It's raining, but not that much, just enough to make everything cloudy, darkish and wet. In other words, perfect for my favorite blanket [not that I have any], and a book!

Then I remember, it's also my day to walk in the mall with my husband. I love mall-walking with my darling. We talk, we bitch, we whisper sweet nothings, and we talk dirty. I was all ready to go. My baby has other plans. He was hungry, but didn't feel like eating, and no matter how much I displayed my breast to his royal highness. He's teething again, and a tad miserable about it. When he does eat, he's mistaken me for a teething ring. He's got two teeth, so I am a little jumpy about his teeth. A whole lot jumpy in fact.

I was finally ready to go, that is, I only have DS3 to dress. Then something else came up. My yahoo mail doesn't work. It's loaded up to 20% of 2 GB, and it is really slow! It's so painful to watch it try to work. I need my e-mail for work, and I can't leave it so slow like that.

Why oh why didn't I empty it's folders for such a long time?! Have you noticed that yahoo, even after you pay for a premium service won't allow you to delete a folder if there's a message in it? Gmail will let you, except that gmail still has bugs in it,and you CANNOT sort the mail. I like sorting my mail. It's an equivalent to shuffling cards while playing Slap-Jack. Try playing cards if you can't shuffle it. It's like coitus interruptus. Very unsatisfactory.

That's it! I just wanted to complain about my e-mail. I hope it will let me delete old stuff so it can be functional again.