I know this is going to come as a complete and utter shock to you, but I'm pretty freaking weird.
I know. Try to hold yourself back.
Seriously, I'm perplexed today because I was looking at some wedding photos of two twenty year old virgins and someone had said, "Oh, look at him (the groom...duh) looking at the love of his life!"
Now I know. Every time I say things like this I get a bunch of email from people who say, "OH MY GOD YOU ARE SUCH A JEALOUS BITCH! I MET THE LOVE OF MY LIFE WILLIS WHEN I WAS FOURTEEN YEARS OLD AND WE HAVE BEEN MADLY IN LOVE AND MARRIED FOR ELEVEN YEARS AND YOU ARE JUST A BITCHFACE COCKSLAP, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH!"
So, okay. I get that. I'm a bitchface cockslap.
But I still have to say, I'm utterly fascinated by people who have figured out this whole "love of your life" thing at the age of twenty.
Because honestly? I'm thirty-three and I'm not sure my husband is the love of my life.
There. I said it.
Not that I don't love my husband. I love my husband. I mean, I love my husband. He is absolutely my best friend on the planet. He's hilarious and sometimes he even means to be hilarious. I would not want to imagine living my life without this man in it.
That being said? I did live my life without him in it. For twenty-four years. And I was okay.
Do I feel like he filled a gaping hole in my life? Yes, I do.
Do I feel like he makes my life better? Yes, most definitely.
Do I feel like I am a better person because I love this man? I do.
Do all of these things mean he's the love of my life?
I'm not sure.
Because you know? This is how my day went the other day:
I can't sleep so I'm awake at 3am.
I leave the house at 7am.
I work with people who are probably actually criminally insane.
I leave work at 4:30pm and I don't get home, and I'm not kidding about this, until 6pm.
My spouse says to me:
"Why are you home so late?"
I have been telling him for two years that it takes me this long. Listening is not one of his strongest attributes.
I make dinner.
I help children with math homework.
I wash two loads of laundry and one load of dishes.
And at 9pm at the exact second my butt hits the couch? My husband says to me:
"Did you want to vacuum or should I?"
I refrained from putting my shoe up his ass and very politely informed him that I wouldn't be vacuuming that evening. Then he vacuumed and was really cheerful about it, so I didn't feel terrible, but I was left to ponder:
If I was the love of his life or he was the love of my life, wouldn't I have vacuumed?
I don't know. I know it's not that simple, but I guess the whole concept of "love of my life" is confusing to me. I know what all those words mean separately, but together they create a big wad of mass squick inside my brain.
How do you know? I mean, I love my kids and I imagine I will love them their entire lives. I even loved them when they were really little and freaky looking and did things like poop on my arm. Aren't THEY the loves of my life? I've loved my dog from the second I met her and I can't imagine ever not loving her either. Also? I have a pretty wicked addiction to Diet Pepsi and Fiber one bars. I make up songs and sing them IN PUBLIC about those two products. And if that's not love, well. I don't want to know what is.
Maybe it's just me.