Reading the Running & Rambling blog entry the other day made me think – and not just about the odd girl crush we all share for Shakira and her scary snaky hips. I also receive a lot of emails about my blog, and the question, “Does your husband read this?” pops up a lot.
To a certain extent, I can understand this question. Considering my absurd obsession with placing the terms “lesbian” and “porn” with the most unlikely subjects (“Rowdy could really use a lesbian iPod in his next feature film”), it’s really a miracle I have a husband. Especially since he spends so much time laughing at my efforts, because only he knows I really have no clue.
But yes, he is aware of my blog. Although that’s not due to his super sleuthing Hardy Boys training – you can’t do something 23 hours a day and not be noticed.
More importantly, he reads it and still loves me. I am a lucky girl. Despite the PMS moaning, my constant weight obsession, my hate/love affair with running, my hair, my boobs (or lack thereof), my detailed exploration of my bowels, and exposing his secret need to catalog and categorize our refrigerator, Michael still loves me.
And it’s reciprocated. He’s private, where I feel the need to share photos of me exchanging fluids with my computer. He is brilliant, although I try not to show how sexy I find his brain. He is incredibly kind and generous, as anyone who has seen him with Kenza can attest to. And despite taking up what could be extra shoe-room with his bikes, I find his athleticism incredibly inspiring. And on a completely shallow note, after several years of marriage, he’s still hot. I think it’s amazing that I get to be with this man every day.