Lately, I have read a few different blog posts about men being romantic with their wives. One blogger wrote on a hot dog and one bought a dress. They were both really sweet posts.
And just to save hurt feelings, I am in no way trying to downplay the thoughtfulness of some very sweet and romantic men, but I must blog about the topic of romance for my own reminder that I never signed up for that adventure. My husband didn’t even propose. We just kind of agreed to get married.
LG writing on a hot dog would be so surprising that I would feel like I owed the man something HUGE: like the Wii he has been dying for or the idea that I am willing to iron all of his clothes. It’s a good thing I don’t have to worry about him going all crazy and romantic on me because I never want to be expected to iron. I only want to do it when I am in a good and nice mood.
It’s o.k. that LG isn’t romantic. Let’s just say that I didn’t marry the man with any false belief that I would turn him into some romantic at heart. (And, he certainly didn’t marry me with some false idea that I would be ironing his clothes for him.) I married him because he was the manly man kind who wasn’t romantic. I never wanted a husband who was too romantic. The cheese is just a little much for me at times; it’s a delicate matter, and LG is still trying to master a good balance with his finicky wife. I did want a man that was righteous, musical, athletic, kind, smart, and funny. That was pretty much the list since I can remember. I got what I wanted and he came with a bonus of being able to provide for his family and knowing how to be a great father.
He also came with one very important trait to the survival of our marriage. He never tries to tell me what to do. He always humors me and listens to me and sometimes he even validates me. If you were married to me, you would understand that him listening and letting me feel like I am in charge is so much more important than romance ever will be. In fact, him never telling me what to do is all the romance I ever need.
So, I was taken off guard at our romantic moment today. They are few and far between, and for me that’s o.k. We went out to lunch. As I dropped him back at work, we turned to each other and simultaneously said, “Thanks for lunch.” Nope, I didn’t pay for it, he did, but he never makes me feel like it’s his money. And, I never have to thank him for that reason. I didn’t say thanks because he was willing to fork over the cash, or even because he was willing to eat where I wanted.
I was thanking him for to his mere presence. And he was thanking me for my mere presence. And, in this house, it’s all about the presence. (And the tricky game of letting me feel like I am in control, even when I am not.) And my need for control and not romance is a really good thing because I buy my own dresses and we don’t put mustard on our hotdogs.