I’ve been accused of many things. Half of them are true, the other half help keep the mysterious factor going for me and I’m ok with that.
For instance:
- I have an average voice. But you don’t want me singing karoke unless the evening begins with shots of tequila. Then, I’m really good.
- My height is 5’11 and I have a large frame. The truth is I have big bones and big meat wrapped around them bones.
- Pantyhose are a bit of an addiction to me and I buy them by the bulk. But I keep the ones with holes around JUST IN CASE.
- If it’s in my head is is soon to be out of my mouth. Though I couch difficult things with, “Well…….perhaps it’s true that….”
Ken and I took a parenting class several years ago that made us do a Love Language test and while we were reporting out our first 2 choices I noticed that all the other women said things like “Words of Encouragement” and “Quality Time.” In an effort not to be labeled the Whore of Babylon I lied and said those same things when it was my turn.
Obligatory head nods and smiles all around. The truth? I thought they were imbiciles with the depth of a paper towel but I desperately wanted to fit into this group.
When we got home I burst into a rendition of Yes, My Wife Is Bonkers and spilled my secret to Ken.
“I didn’t want to say this but mine were Receiving Gifts and Physical Touch. JUST LIKE THE MEN. They all chose Physical Touch! I like touch! I like presents! BUT THOSE BITCHES WERE SITTING THERE JUDGING ME AND I DIDN’T WANT TO GIVE THEM ANY MORE AMMUNITION.”
Ken, for reasons crucial to the sustaining of our marriage, is a patient man whose gifts were Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service. Since the time when I allowed my mouth to puke all of these pieces of information to him I’ve been honest. Sometimes brutally so, but he always knows where I stand as does anyone within a 40 mile radius.
This might be too loud or construed as whoring myself out or just being greedy, but my birthday is Monday and I’m going to be a number that looks far better after other people’s names. Not mine.
Dear Kenny,
You may get me a camera or some jewelry or something electronic and cool/hip. You may not wait until Monday night to say, “Let’s go shopping. What do you want?” You must think about all of the clues I’ve given you, search all of the catalogs lying around the house, or just call my sisters. But you will not screw this up.
I love you, snookums.
Kelly
