Tag Archives: Farting husbands


10th January 2010

You know those days when you realize that you’ve been married a LONG time? Maybe even FOREVER?

Those days when you realize that dude you live with is kind of getting on your nerves and not in that cute way he used to when you were dating a hundred years ago. (He farted 10 years ago: “He’s so cute.” giggle vs.  He farts now: “He’s so dead!”). No? Your man is perfect, is he? His farts smell like Marc Jacobs perfume? You are so lucky. Congrats. Hold on to that one.

Let me clarify, just for clarity’s sake – My husband is perfect. He really is. He makes sure he makes himself coffee in the morning, he makes sure he’s covered with 90% of the blankets at night, and he takes out the trash every week, without once forgetting to complain about it the entire time. He’s my champion, my soulmate, my baby daddy (yeah, that last one pretty much sets the whole thing in stone. That and the fact that I have a Greek father (Greek father + divorce = purgatory), pretty much means we will be together forever. Isn’t it romantic? I think so too.

So, what’s a girl to do? When I’m feeling like I need a break from reality, I don’t drink myself into a velvety coma. NOPE. (I said nothing about eating….obviously). I use my IMAGINATION. Remember your imagination? That thing you learned about on Sesame Street? You need that thing if you’re to survive ladies! Imagine, Pretend, BELIEVE!

Now remember, this is an exercise in daydreaming, this is not meant to hurt the man friend/baby daddy/husbands out there, because YOU DO NOT TELL THEM that you’re daydreaming about someone else, just like they don’t tell you. (They are dreaming dirtier things at all times, I promise you).

So who do you see? A little Colin Firth? Some Robert Downey? Hello Jeffrey Dean Morgan? Well, that’s who I see. It’s a delight of the senses. It’s healthy, you know. Seriously. You are supposed to dream of these imaginary hot dudes that you will probably, most likely never get to meet in your lifetime, for the sake of daydreaming and blood flow. Who needs exercise to get that heart working, when all it really takes is imagining Colin Firth ringing your door bell, with Starbucks in hand. Wouldn’t that be the best Starbucks ever? In fact, any dream that included Colin Firth holding a cookbook in one hand, and a Starbucks in the other, and I would re-emerge to my farting reality, a happy woman.

(This rant has been sponsored by ANOTHER business trip – and the letters B, S and the number 2).

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