I was standing in front of the mirror, recently, lamenting the collateral damage of The Bun's arrival, thinking that Lean Cuisines and a day at the spa are not going to be enough to fix this mess. Yeah, I'll admit it. I was totally throwing myself a pity party when The Firefighter comes up behind me and asks, "What's wrong, Mama?"
I look at him like he's stupid....can he not see what I'm seeing in the mirror? "This!" I say, as I gesture to the deflated, swollen, stretch mark covered mess I call my body.
|What I see in the mirror.|
"Oh, I see it, alright, " he says as he kisses my neck. "I see one hot mama!"
|What he saw in the mirror.|
Yes, he can occasionally say the right thing at the right time. And yes, he was sober. Good job, Boo. I should give you a sticker. Still, I think something is wrong with his eyes...and after some consideration, I think I know what it is.
Two words for y'all. Beer Goggles. The beer and crappy pick up lines are optional. In fact, I know from ten years of bartending, that every man owns at least one pair and that the longer a man has been married, the more likely he is to to employ them - if he wants to stay married. I think The Firefighter has them permanently attached to his head...must be my sense of humor, 'cuz I ain't no Adrianna Lima.
Though, beer goggles or not, The Firefighter is good for my self esteem...when he emails me something like this:
I may not be Fred Flinstone, baby, but I can make your bedrock.
He questions my sanity when I email him something like this:
Well, what do you expect, Boo, when you send me crappy pick up lines?
If the barn's a rockin', don't come knockin'.
Peace out, y'all!