This may sound strange, but your husband might be a genius. How do I know this you might ask? Well, my husband is so smart that he knows what I need even before I do. Let me give you a few examples…
Last week I walked in from the grocery store with my three blessings. Unbeknownst to me, I had dog crap on the bottom of my shoe, which I proceeded to track through the entire house. I look down at my shirt and realize that I have some type of bodily fluid smeared across my clothes, the most likely culprit being my 5 year olds runny nose. I am certain everyone at Publix noticed; however they are so nice there that they didn’t even mention it. As I carried in the last of the groceries, exhausted from my day, my loving husband in his infinite wisdom brings me a gift. Yes, a gift! He leans over and softly whispers in my ear,” I know what will make you feel better, some of this hot loving”, as he grabs my tired and beaten down butt cheek.
It was like one of those Oprah “Ah Ha” moments. The Heavens opened up, angels were singing, and the realization hit me. He was right. All I could think about all day while I was working, cooking, doing laundry, chasing and hog tying naked children, and cleaning dog crap off the floor was “Man, I got to get some of that sweet loving.” I mean, I was baffled as to how I could make it through the day without showing up at his office and throwing him down on his desk? My Mensa candidate had it right. Seriously, ladies don’t you find yourself drooling mid-day about the delight that awaits you at home in the evening hours? Do you ask yourself, “Why can’t I get more of this?” Or “I should be paying for this, how on earth does he let me have this for free?” I hope other women don’t find out and start beating down the door. I will have to start taking kick boxing classes on top of all the other shit I do every day just to keep my man safe from shady hoes.
Example number two. I was in the middle of making dinner the other night. Pots and pans are sizzling, and water is boiling over. I can’t find the last feaking egg that I know was in the fridge 10 minutes ago, and if you know me, the oven is smoking. I’ve got one kid jumping from one couch cushion to the next. Then, my daughter comes out of her room wearing a skirt, no shirt, socks, and a pair of Cinderella’s dress up heels, or what we affectionately call “stripper shoes”. I ask her “why no shirt?” She dramatically tells me “the boys don’t have to wear shirts, so I don’t either”. I gently explain to her that nice girls cover their nipples, because “you aren’t supposed to give it away for free.” Next thing I know I hear a terrifying scream and several f-bombs coming from the bathroom. I run in and see my three year old coved in poop, head to toe. As I peered in on this fiasco I see my husband throw up his hands and say, “I’m out”. At that moment in time my Einstein of a husband knew that I wanted to drop everything that I was doing at that minute and Lysol wipe the crap off of my three year old. The feces was not only on the bottom his feet, his hands, legs, butt, and back, but he had somehow managed to get poop under the toilet seat. When I asked my husband, owner and C.E.O. of The Brain Trust how he knew I wanted to take care of that situation, he so eloquently told me,” Honey, I know how you like the bathroom to be clean so I knew you would want to do this”. As I stood there washing the doo doo off my hands I realized, this man is a fucking Genius.
My husband is also a genius. He knows how much I enjoy picking his underwear and dirty socks up from the floor. So he affectionately leaves them there for me each day.