No, seriously, he is. A couple inches taller and he’d be my dream man. I’M JUST KIDDING!! We joke about his height all the time. And by joke, I mean I make him wear lifts. No, seriously, let’s get back to him being hot.
I could go into the whole psychological drama of why his body is rockin’, but it seems like a breach of the marriage contract. Chubby kid, scoliosis, blah, blah, blah … please!, we all have our dramas. Look, my sister stole my clothes in high school, repeatedly! on a daily basis!, and you don’t see me getting a 6 pack anytime soon.
Anyway, his motivation is killing me. If I have to see his underwear clad body doing pull ups in our bathroom doorway ONE MORE TIME!! P.S. I secretly took pictures of him one night 😉 But really, he’s awesome. He trains for all these races … triathlons or whatever you call them … suicide missions, perhaps? while I eat cupcakes and donuts. Ok, not true, but that’s what I dream of doing. He dreams of running, swimming, and biking. (insert disgusted/confused look here)
I really, honestly, don’t get it. I mean, more power to him! But all that sweating and working and moving … and telling yourself over and over that you are NOT going to die today … it’s exhausting. To his credit, he could probably walk around naked anywhere and get admiring glances, while I, on the other hand, would be arrested and tried for crimes against humanity. And as my punishment they’d do that whole Princess Bride thing where they’d only leave my ears, so I could hear the screams of small children.
To my credit, I have been dieting. Of course I don’t tell the kids this, less they become anorexics who blame me and my “crazy diet talks” for their malnourished bodies. I tell them I’m “eating healthier”, but my oldest sees right through my bullshit. Oh well. I use the same strategy with this as I do Santa … avoid eye contact, casually make some guilt inducing comment like, “well, if you don’t want to believe, that’s your choice” and change the subject.
Of course I want results immediately … one of my most favorite personality flaws!!! I keep putting these Banana Republic jeans on … every day … and they still don’t fit. And every day, before I pull them out, I wistfully think “this will be the day!!”. And the jeans roll their eyes and think, “please, lady”.
I can’t help but want to be the same level of hotness as my husband … I certainly don’t want to be that couple where the husband is all hubba hubba and you see the wife and you’re like “HUH?”. But I don’t think I can do it. I’m a little too lazy and I enjoy sugar a little too much – and by “a little” I mean if I could live on sugar alone, I would. I guess I’ll just continue to admire his amazing body from afar … oh wait, never mind.