Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Stand by your man

My Grandma sent an important message to me through my sister LynnieC who was up visiting on her way home from this weekend. "I hope [MayB] knows what a great man she has." Or something along those lines. I am sure Grandma is terrified that The Guy will someday wake up and go "Whoa. What am I doing with this woman?" and run away. I tease Grandma, but she is right -- I have a great man with me.

The Guy is all the things I didn't know I always wanted. He's kind. He's practical. He has a great sense of humour. He's a planner. He's responsible. He's dedicated. He's loyal. He's generous. He is a nice guy. (My high school self is gagging. So are my sisters.)

When you meet The Guy, you know instantly that he is a kind man. He would do anything for anyone. And he does. Sometimes to the detriment of himself, but he does it. And sometimes, he is taken advantage of because people expect him to be nice. Here's the kicker -- most of the time, he's so nice, he doesn't even care. He's not perfect. I mean, he thinks BEIGE is a colour. (Kidding, honey, I lurve you!) But he's pretty dang great.

That is why when I hear anyone say something bad about The Guy, my back goes up. I think "Have you even met him?" People take his generosity as a given, a default. So, anything less than that is selfishness. My defences go up at the merest hint of slander towards his good name. I want to throw myself at the offending parties, rip out their spines, and tie them in a bow. (Too graphic?) But I hold back. Why? Because these are not my battles to fight, nor does he need me too. He's a grown man and a capable one at that.

When we talk about our relationship, it is as partners. We walk side by side. His arm around my shoulders to protect and comfort. Mine around his waist to support and hold fast. But every once in awhile, I want to crouch in front of him, with my claws raised, so I can snarl at the enemy.


  1. What a great new button to push.

  2. You are a mean old man. I will put you on an ice flow. In August.


Crap monkies say "what?"