Love is blind.
He’s also deaf.
I love the way the lingering scent of him still emanates from his tee-shirts even as I fold them fresh from the wash.
I love the roughness of his hands, the softness of his feet, and the taste of his bottom lip.
But he is a blind, deaf asshole.
I contend that The Mister may hear half of what I say to him. Yes, he has some hearing loss. Yes, he could do with an ear flushing. But some of it is a choice to shut out my chatter.
This must render me more attractive. I know that I personally find many people attractive until they open their mouths.
Recently, we’ve all become aware of The Mister’s blindness. Even with his bifocals on, he could not see the spinach in my teeth or the gray in my hair.
God love ‘im.
I must’ve been a beautiful blur to him.
When we were first married, he’d roll over in the morning and tell me how beautiful I was and I would giggle and give him a shove. He still does this, only now I narrow my eyes and tell him he’s blind.
Bless his heart.
While Moo dragged me out into the sunlight to pluck all the weird whiskers that come with my wisdom, The Mister was blissfully unaware of how hairy his wife had become. I doubt he’d seen my spider veins, my torn cuticles, my rosacea, or anything else a person couldn’t see from ten feet away.
I teased him about this. I told him, “When you get your new glasses, you may find I am not the woman you think I am. It may be all too real for you.”
Moo laughed and laughed.
Then The Mister told Moo, “That’s okay. If it turns out she’s not pretty, don’t worry, your next mama will be.”
And he laughed alone.
I wrote this post so you could all laugh with him, but The Mister got his new specs and he still fancies me!
Happy Friday Everyone!