Saturday, December 10, 2011
Crab legs denied.
Well, me. I care about crab legs. But obviously I'm married to man that has his priorities in the right order. Wife before crab. Yep, that's the order. I think it was just so weird to me how he didn't even consider it for a second. Maybe I could understand if when he walked through the door I was pulling out chicken cordeon bleu with my toned arms and size 2 body in a clean apron while our immaculate house smelled of baked goods. The reality is, my arms look like someone glued bread dough on the back of them, there's a 50/50 chance of even having mascara on and our house usually smells like Liv with a garage sale looking living room full of her toys and remnants of the days activities. That's the reality and the crazy part is that Gar loves that reality. He loves me. Bread dough arms and all. He wants to come home. He wants to be here. In our little 1100 square foot hamster cage more than anywhere else.
It's something I cognitively knew but it just felt nice to know that crab legs couldn't hold a candle to cream o' crap casserole, dirty diapers, untoned arms, and our imperfect reality that is our home. A reality that is imperfectly perfect for what I need and want. It's so good to feel that the person I love more than anything, loves it too.