I love my husband. No, wait….I adore my husband. I have reason to. He is THE man.
I have said that in the lottery of men, I have won the jackpot. My girlfriends have called my husband the The Holy Grail of men. He’s a nice guy, he treats me like a queen. Heck, he’ll even refer to me as his queen on occasion. He loves me just the way I am. He gets me. He has no addictions or vices. He’s taken on my kids as his own and if you know my story, you know this is not your typical step-dad situation here. I have an adopted, special needs child, which means life can be chaos. The man accepts it all.
We love each other. We actually make people sick. We’ve been told that. Not in a mean way. But, in a nice way. We’ve been told by more than one of our friends that we are the epitome of what a relationship should be. We are “in love”, we are best friends and we totally and completely get each other.
There is this one, itty, bitty thing that I really don’t get about my husband and it bothers me. A LOT.
My husband has naked women tattooed on him.
I don’t know how this happened or why he decided this should happen. It was before we met and like the real, fleshy women who came before my time, I really don’t feel like it’s something I want to know a whole lot about. However, now that I’ve compared it to real, fleshy women – I guess I wouldn’t understand if he was holding on to pictures of old, naked girlfriends either. Back to what I was saying….He has three of them. They are like pin-up girls. I guess his first tattoo was the Betty Page with devil horns on his right forearm. The second would’ve been the Roxie, on his left upper arm and then the last, which is a ah-MAZE balls, artistically speaking, but the worst from a feminist perspective, is this bondage chic on his lower right leg.
They normally don’t bother me in our day to day activities, and he is pretty good about trying to wear long sleeves and pants, but obviously you can’t do this year round or when you’re playing sports. So they’re times when I look down and think, “Geesh, honey – could you tuck your pornography away?” Like…when we’re hanging out with other people’s kids and I notice the kids noticing, when he’s coaching one of the kids sports, when we’re swimming at our gym or in my Grandma’s swimming pool with the whole family, counseling sessions with Pickle, when we are at a parent/teacher conferences, at church. I mean, it does get a little awkward.
Have you ever met a guy with tattoos like this? I have. A couple times over. They’re awful. I mean like the most despicable, degrading towards women, pieces of crap, scumbags EVER. And my husband is not even remotely close to that. In fact, he’s the furthest thing from that. I don’t want people to EVER assume anything like that about him. He’s the most respectful man I’ve ever been with. He’s huge on respect and I want everyone to know that and to see that and to appeciate that.
Usually when people get tattoos they symbolize something for them, they mean something to them…you know, say something about who they are?
What the hell does this mean?
What on Earth possessed this decision? Not once – but three times???
I just don’t get it.
This will always be the thing I don’t get about my husband and I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does.