This week’s blog has been inspired by my optometrist John H or Mr Cool. He is a great bloke with a great sense of humor! Besides my husband, he is the only man I let stare deep into the pupils of my eyes.
This week my husband (for privacy issues, let’s call him “Cecil”) went on his annual “Boy’s Weekend”. Many years ago it started purely as a weekend away and it usually involved a couple of hours drive up or down the coast. What is the old true saying?: ‘Give a man an inch and he will take a mile” – well this “Boy’s Weekend” is now almost a week and involves a plane trip! It’s all pretty harmless, a few old school mates who swim, surf, play golf and drink a few beers. Nothing short of a few fart jokes, complaints about lack of intimacy with their wife, lots of swearing, belching, burping and snoring. Cecil and his mates also tell the same stories over and over again.
I have been married to “Cecil” for 16 years. We met when we were quite young. It was his funny fart jokes that initially attracted me to him – he had such an attentive audience that night. I guess I was amused, yet disgusted at this handsome character! Who was this rude, yet hilarious man? Surely not my future husband or the father of my 3 children??? Twenty years on – fart jokes haven’t died. Married Cecil. Three kids. One dog.
I have learnt many things about being married to Cecil, and by no means am I an expert in this field. Here are three certain things I have learnt in MY marriage:
Once a Mummy’s Boy – ALWAYS a Mummy’s Boy! Accept this fact and move on. Be warned….don’t try and change this relationship and for God’s sake don’t try and be his Mother! You are rowing up stream without a paddle here or you may have more chance of winning a kick-boxing competition with one leg! Don’t try and be her.
Make no mistakes here, when Cecil looks at this woman he sees absolutely nothing but an angel figurine, she has a golden halo, pretty white wings and she flies on over when he needs her, she is usually carrying a lovely casserole or his favorite soup. His Mummy will always be at your heels, keeping you high on your stumpy smelly little toes. Like a protective tiger in a famine fueled jungle – she awaits in the background for you to slip up, so she can slide on in beside him and wipe his little brow with her white handkerchief.
If you married a “Daddy’s Boy”, again, accept the fact that nothing here will change and just move on. When Cecil looks at his Father he sees nothing but a God-like figurine, a bearded man in a white gown carrying a cross in one hand and a nice cold beer in the other. His Father will be at your door with the lawn mower, whipper snipper, gurney, dynamic lifter, a free car wash and even a little rub of his tired feet if they are sore. His Daddy will do any task around your house, just so he can spend some quality time with this fine specimen of a son he produced, then when the tasks at hand are complete, they will sit down together for a beer and a quiet prayer.
I fell in love with a fitness freak lunatic and like the two conditions mentioned above, this condition has no cure, and only gets worse as middle age creeps in. His training regime becomes his world and more serious as his age progresses. This fitness freak type will push you to the point your life may become lonely and dare I say “BORING”. On a Friday or Saturday night you often may find yourself sitting on the couch drinking a small glass of red wine because Cecil has gone to bed at 8.00 pm for he must rise at 5.00 am to work his temple of a body. Poor patient and understanding you – whilst Cecil clocks miles in the pool, you slowly and regrettably awake the next day to nothing but a stinking, cracking, head banging hangover and 3 hungry children. Surprisingly, the bottle of red you opened last night is empty. Surely “You didn’t drink the whole thing on your own??” you ask. What a great party me, myself and I had last night! Point here, red wine goes down easily when you are partying on your own.
On the rare occasions Cecil attends a party with me – I get this glare, you too may be familiar with this glare, this means:
“No more worm! Party is over, I need to get to bed. It’s 8.30 pm. We are going home!”
My response: ‘No! I am staying Cecil! One more worm!”
Random Fact: Men have larger brains that women – about 13%, this has absolutely nothing to do with intelligence. Thank goodness.
Well that is it from me this week. Sixteen years married and I wouldn’t change my Cecil or his family. I am blessed.
Remember, one glass of red can go a long way!