Mr. Romantic

marcussen family wedding photo

Hubby and I just celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary together.  We celebrated by painting the kitchen window and front door (one of those shades of white).

As of this post, it’s already been two days since our anniversary, which means I can no longer remember whether we even went out to dinner or anything.  We may have had Taco Bell.

Friends and family wished us a happy anniversary on FB, and we were tagged in one of our wedding photos which showed up online.  (That’s me in my Kelly green wedding dress.)

All in all, it was more fanfare than I usually think to give to our anniversary.

It’s not that I’m not happy with Hubby.  I am.  Very.  I think we have true love.

People tell me I’m lucky to have a husband like him and I think they’re right.  He is, after all:  handsome, friendly, kind, forgiving, and lenient.  That may seem like a strange list of attributes for the perfect husband, but personally I think that’s the right kind of man to have.  (If you had to live with me you’d probably tack on a few more of those “lenient”.)

And then there are those poppy-blue colored eyes….. sigh.  But when it comes to romance, we are complete opposites.

I can only take so much of all that mush.  Hubby, on the other hand, is over the top.

I’m glad I have a husband who remembers every anniversary, birthday, first date, etc.  I’ve heard plenty of stories from women who would give anything to have a man who brings them flowers regularly, wants to hold their hand wherever they go, tells them they’re beautiful when they’re wearing paint splattered clothes or haven’t brushed their teeth yet.  (Hubby does all of those things.)  But a little goes a long way for me.

I try to think more romantically for him.  It ain’t easy.

Like, once, we were in the bookstore and I saw him reading a book about putting more romance in your life (as if!).  A few days later I was drinking an iced tea when something caught in my throat.  I started choking, and up came a little piece of paper.

“What the hell is this?”  I said.

“Read it,” he replied.

So I did.  I don’t remember what it said, but the gist was that Hubby had frozen little love notes in the ice cube tray.  Something he’d read in that fool book.  He had that tender look of love in his eyes and expectant smile on his lips.  I think I was supposed to tell him how romantic that was.  Instead I belted out – “You could’ve killed me!” – then spent the next half hour apologizing and trying to sooth his hurt feelings.

There was the Easter season that Hubby hid a dozen long-stemmed carnations for me to find.  Instead of an Easter egg hunt, it was a flower hunt.  (Okay.  I have to confess.  I kind of liked that one.)  Still, I would’ve been just as happy with one green egg.

Luckily, I have to say, that after 22 years he’s gotten used to me.  So on our anniversary I was getting the supplies together for us to paint.  I was annoyed because he was procrastinating, wanting to spend a few minutes time going down memory lane and talking about our wedding.

“You know,” he said.  “I’m so glad we got married.  I’m totally happy with you.”

“Well, whoop-de-do,” I replied.  “Let’s get this window done.”

He laughed and we got down to work.  Later, when we were sitting at the table surveying our handiwork, my earlier response seemed funny to me too and I thought about writing this post.

I knew Hubby never signed on to our computer.  I don’t think he knows how.  He doesn’t read my blog.  He doesn’t have a FB account.  He doesn’t text.  Computers aren’t really a big part of his life.  As far as his days are concerned, what happens online isn’t part of the real world.

Still, our family and friends ARE online.  They can see what I write about him.  I wondered if I was being fair to him, or doing something he’d rather I didn’t do.  If that was the case, I’d respect his wishes.  So I asked him.

“Now that I write that blog I find I put a lot of our conversations into my posts,” I said.  “You’ve become one of my favorite subject matters.”

“Uh-huh.”  He stood to go into the other room.

“How do you feel about that?” I asked.

“Whoop-de-do,” he answered, as he disappeared from view.

Ah… true love.

Advertisements

7 Comments on “Mr. Romantic”

  1. Barbara Birmingham says:

    Debbie that was great! Loved the love notes in the ice cubes. Now that took a lot of time and thought.

    Sent from my iPad

    >

    Like

  2. Lexi Herrick says:

    I love this. I think you would really like my most recent article about being in love, you should check it out! http://serendipityandcreativity.com/2014/09/04/25-moments-that-make-being-in-love-so-incredible/

    Like

    • Hi Lexi, I did check out your blog and I have a suggestion. You should remove the word “aspiring” from your description on your About page, because you’re not aspiring to be a writer, you already are! Nice blog Lexi. Thank you for stopping by and reading mine. djmarcussen.com

      Like

      • Lexi Herrick says:

        Thank you and that’s a great suggestion! I use that bio for when I write on websites like the huffington post because I feel young and unworthy of the title haha. I will definitely change it for here though, it’s my own page I can call myself a writer! Thanks for the feedback and I will keep reading your posts

        Like

  3. […] is totally romantic of Hubby, (see Mr. Romantic), and the whole tile counting thing was crazy obsessive on my part, I know, but I come from a […]

    Like

  4. […] confess, I’m in the lover group, and I live with a romantic man (Mr. Romantic), so there’s no ignoring V-Day even if I wanted to.  Which I don’t.  So sue me.  I […]

    Like


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s