Summer sweetness, the perfect husband, anticipation

Right now I’m at the neighborhood pool, sunbathing and listening to my favorite alternative summer playlist. “Peaches” by In The Valley Below is thrumming in my headphones. It is truly the happiest and most at peace I have been in a while.

I start my first job out of college tomorrow at 8 am. Last night I got home from a weekend back home in Missouri. I was expecting to come home to a dark house and my husband in bed already, given his early morning. Instead I came home to a husband waiting up for me in the living room. He had our laundry done.

It was the sweetest surprise he could have given me, next to the kiss he gave me when we greeted each other. 

I did not marry “my perfect man.”

There are many things I love about my husband and our relationship. I love that we have fun. I love that we support each other. I love that we can talk honestly with one another. I love that when we fight, we make up. I even love that we are so different sometimes.

My husband hates just about every type of music and tv show I enjoy. Seldom can I turn one of those mediums on without him making a comment about how it sucks, or its crappy or even him flat out asking me to turn it off.

My husband loves mexican food and chocolate and could probably eat them every meal, every day. Mexican food, unless it is Chipotle, is very low on my desired food list. I love grilled cheese, burgers and ice cream.

My husband loves YouTube. He watches YouTube on the daily, and quite frankly that much YouTube would put me to sleep. For me all YouTube is is people talking about video games and nerds being nerds.

My husband also hates swimming–too much hassle he says. I am a fish out of water and I always have been. I’m at the pool as I type for crying out loud.

If I had married the perfect guy, he would love Teavanna. He would be a bibliophile. He would long for the ocean. He would enjoy alternative music and indie rock. He wouldn’t mind me binge watching Friends or Army Wives on Netflix. My perfect guy would have a hankering for tomato soup every time I made a grilled cheese for dinner.

My perfect guy would be romantic as heck. He would bring me flowers and surprise me with rose petals and candle lit evenings. He would whisper sweet things to me all the time. He would never complain about the way I do laundry or leave a dish in the sink. My perfect man would be a strong Christian and insist on going to church every Sunday. We would always agree.

But here’s the thing: Even if my perfect man exists somewhere, I still wouldn’t marry him.

Given the option, I would always marry Alex. No, he doesn’t love to read, drink tea, surprise me with rose petals on the bed, keep his complaints to himself or go to church. But he does love me so much despite my frustating him, my flaws and bad puns. He does look me in the eye when I’m so angry with him I could scream and apologizes. He stands by me when I feel like a failure at being an adult and a wife. He tells me to believe in God and go to church if i choose to. He does surprise me with kindnesses like taking off work to spend my last day before work together, waiting up for me to get home and asking me for a dance in the kitchen.

My husband, with all of his imperfections, is who I would always choose to be with. Every day I am so glad I stopped looking for the perfect man and started appreciating the imperfect one.

Until next time….

 

 

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