It has been suggested that in my last few posts, I misrepresented Husband as a demanding, slothful yob who thinks tossing an empty beer-can down the drive constitutes ‘taking out the rubbish’. I ‘conveniently forgot’ to mention that he also retrieves shoes that have fallen out of the bathroom window into the gutter seven feet below.
It was unwarranted, uncalled for, unnecessary, and completely unfair to my poor, defenseless Husband. Not that I wish to imply he is a wimp; WHY AU CONTRAIRE: defenseless BUT ONLY in the sense that he is too noble, honorable and pure decent to consider defending himself against such scurrilous accusations.
I would like to address this here and now. The reality is that nothing could be further from the truth, except perhaps cosmetic adverts, online dating profiles, airborne livestock, politics, porn flicks, takeaway coffee sizings, Husband’s interpretation of time, and pretty much any word that comes out of my mouth after three margaritas. On reflection, there appear to be plenty of things that are further from the truth. However, the breadth between (my representation of) Husband and Truth is relatively wide, similar in length to the distance between, say, here and Estonia or a galaxy far, far away.
To clarify: Husband is a star amongst men; a veritable superhero who doesn’t wear spandex or his underpants on the outside, but would look totally hot even if he did because he’s totally hot.
I hope this addresses any confusion