With Valentine’s Day just around the corner, I thougth it might be nice to repost a little somethin’ somethin’ about my Favorite Valentine. If you’ve heard this one before, forgive me but I think the sentiment deserves repeating.
My husband is not a side-burned Wolverine, a dashing pirate who is secretly an Earl, a misunderstood vampire, or a time-traveling superhero. He’s better. He’s a real-life kind of hero. The kind who works hard every day and adores his family. Here are just a few of the many reasons why he is better than a fictional hero.
- A fictional hero can’t scoop poop for a dog I (thought I) wanted, but my husband can and does. He scoops it up, and disposes of it in some mysterious fashion so I can pretend that the labradoodle doodles all over our yard disappear as if by magic.
- A fictional hero cannot help a fifth grader with math. Neither can I because it’s beyond my comprehension. But my husband uses words like quadratic polynomial and cotangent with ease. He even knows his multiplication tables all the way up through twelve. You think that pouty Heathcliff knows how to convert fractions into decimals? I doubt it. Edward Cullen might. But that’s only because he keeps repeating high school.
- A fictional hero cannot comb your daughter’s head for lice, even if he comes from a time period where head lice was as acceptable, and common, as freckles.
- A fictional hero would be insanely jealous if you posted photographs of OTHER fictional heroes all over your bulletin board, even after you explain it’s ‘just for a little inspiration.’ Actually, my husband isn’t keen about this either, but as long as I don’t remind him that Taylor Swift is half his age, he lets me keep my man-harem pictures where I can see them.
- A fictional hero (or his valet) picks out his clothes and does a damn fine job of it. He is dressed appropriately for every occasion. My husband, on the other hand, makes some really interesting fashion choices. You might think this is a bad thing. But I always enjoy a good laugh.
- A fictional hero never has bedhead or morning mouth. But can you imagine the amount of pressure on us, ladies, if we had to wake up looking well-coiffed with minty fresh breath? I usually look like Nick Nolte’s mug shot until about 10a.m. so I don’t want my husband hopping out of bed all sparkly and invigorated like Alex O’Loughlin after an exfoliating surf ride. I don’t want the bar raised beyond my capabilities.
- A fictional hero would do stuff the first time you asked him to, which would give you practically nothing to talk about. If we removed nagging from our day-to-day conversation, my DH and I would have about 45 seconds of chat time remaining. Then it would be nothing but crickets chirping.
- A fictional hero has awesome hair, without a hint of gray. But think about it. If your man had long, flowing locks, he’d be messing with it all the time. Most of them can’t keep their hands off their junk so there’s no way they could leave their hair alone. And it would constantly be blowing in his face or dipping into the salsa bowl when he leans over to snarf a few taco chips. He’d most certainly purloin your expensive shampoos and styling products. And just imagine what he’d leave on the bar of soap. My husband, on the other hand, has very nice hair, and he pays just the right amount of attention to it. It’s dark brown and is just starting to get some silver spots, which I think look simply dashing.
- My husband will get out of bed in the middle of the night to get me a drink of water when I ask him to. A fictional hero might do this too. But a lot of other husbands might not, so I just wanted to give mine props for that.
- A fictional hero needs a character arc. He needs a deep dark secret, a game-changing flaw, a crisis to manage or an enemy to defeat. My husband’s dark side consists of him listening to Pink Floyd music really, REALLY loud as a teenager. His ‘flaws’ are technically personality traits which I alone find irritating. And he manages crises every day for his patients at the hospital. So, as exciting as it is to read about men who could kill you with their kiss, or banter with you over a dead body at a crime scene, or help you save the world from destruction by fallen angels bent on revenge, give me my Real Man any day. Because truth may be stranger than fiction, but when it comes to my Husband, truth is better than fiction, too.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all you Real Life Valentines.