I was recently accused of bragging about my hotness on my blog. As a matter of fact, I believe I have made it pretty clear that I absolutely do not feel that way about myself (you can read more about that here, here, and somewhere in here if you are so inclined), so I was terribly offended by this accusation. And by terribly offended, I mean mildly perturbed. And by mildly perturbed, I mean rather amused. But if I’m going to be accused of something, I might as well do it. That kind of compares to what Jesus would do, right? And by compares, I mean contrasts.
So without further ado, allow me to give you another reason why iDON’Tneedanewman: my husband thinks I’m hot.
Now, if you’re looking at that little head-shot in the corner of the page here, you might agree with him. I might agree with him, too. I am totally smokin’ hot in that picture. I must confess, though, I rarely look like that. So rarely, in fact, that on that particular day when all the planets happened to be aligned just so, I went into a full-blown panic attack and frantically started shouting around the house, “Someone needs to take my picture right now!” My eleven-year-old snapped this one for me. Bless her!
If that is how I looked all the time, my husband thinking I’m hot would not be anything special. What makes him special is that he thinks I’m hot even though I usually look more like this: – wait! Before you look, you need to put both hands over your face and part your fingers ever-so-slightly so you can just barely see between them. And then take a quick glance at the picture, but not for more than two seconds. Any longer than that and it’ll be like that scene at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark when they open the ark and all their faces melt off. Ready? Go!
I’m sorry you had to see that. Look back to the picture in the top corner. Feel better?
Back to my adorable husband. Last week I was at worship team practice and I got a text from – guess who! It simply said, “You’re hot!” I oohed and ahhed and passed my phone around for all to see. They oohed and ahhed, too. And then they pulled out their own phones and texted my husband to tell him he was hot. I texted him, too, with “You’re hot. We all think so.” We are so mature.
When I got home, he asked if we’d actually done anything productive at practice. I informed him that everyone thought his text was the sweetest thing. They asked how long we’d been married (16 years, BTW), and if he said things like that to me all the time (yes). One guy asked if he could use that with his wife (to which I should have said, “No, it’s Pat-ented!” Oh, my husband’s name is Pat. Let’s try that again. “No, it’s Pat-ented!” HA HA HA!) I reassured him that we weren’t making fun of him; it’s just that everyone thought it was so great that he would take the time to send me such a text.
His response: “Why wouldn’t I? Have they seen you?”
And that, my friends, is why iDON’Tneedanewman.