Suburban Snapshots

The Goods

Saturday, October 09, 2010

A very wise, very dear friend of mine once said to me after her divorce, "You leave the first man because he throws his socks on the floor, and the second one throws his underwear on the floor." It made me laugh at the time, and now I totally get where she's coming from.

Husbands (OK, to be fair you can say "spouses") pull lots of Universal Husband Shit, y'all. And what's great about it is that when your own husband is doing something that irks you, chances are you've got a friend who can totally relate (unless the irksome habit is like, "keeps leaving bloody clothes in the basement sink." You might have to find a chat room for that.)

I recently complained to a girlfriend that my own dear husband had walked into our bedroom to find me wearing nothing but black panty hose, my sexy "Mama's Night Out" black bra (just the matching is a feat here), and the mad hot shoes shown in that photo, and he shot me a look that said, "Uh, that's an interesting ensemble," then proceeded to walk around me to get to his sock drawer, all feels left un-copped. People, come on.

I know two things for certain about my husband: he will never be fat, and he loves the sex.

So when I e-blabbed my frustrations to this friend, she shot back an email seconds later with her own story: when she was newly pregnant with only larger breasts to show for it, she'd stand by the bed each night and rub her chest and belly with anti-stretch-mark oil. It's ok — picture it, you can come back in a few minutes. Rubbing oil on pregnancy boobs. It's what happens in porn right after the pizza gets delivered. Her husband didn't even glance.

So she and I have scheduled a date night during which we'll do nothing but ogle each other and make crude comments. If the sangria's good, we might make out.

I know there are those of you thinking, "God, what I wouldn't give for my husband to stop groping my boobs/grabbing my ass/looking at me like I was Thanksgiving dinner all damn day," because everyone's got their own greener grass. Obviously we love and appreciate our spouses for a whole host of reasons that more than compensate for their shortcomings, and it's probably true that any one of them could keep a blog based entirely on our own faults. Still, it's  good to be able to commiserate about these things with friends who will laugh, pour another glass of wine, and share potentially humiliating stories of their own. It makes you realize that the grass is pretty much the same color no matter who's mowing it.

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