Mr. Handsome turned 36 on Friday.
Doesn’t he look thrilled about it?
Oh wait. He’s falling asleep now. The excitement must be too much for him.
He hates having his picture taken. I begged him to hold still for these shots and so what did he do? He made a series of annoying faces! I had to threaten to clobber him. Then I called him some bad names. And then he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. The nerve of him! At least then he was still.
Look at those massive hands of his.
Worker hands, I call them. Rough, calloused, and capable, there’s nothing soft about them. I’ve always claimed they were my favorite thing about him, appearance-wise.
Oh, looky. Now he’s gone and put his hood up.
What does this—his dislike of being photographed—say about him? That he’s shy? Embarrassed? Insecure? Evasive? Aloof? Impatient? Or maybe he’s distrustful of cameras, believing that they somehow allow the photographer to see his inner soul. Which I can see just fine, no camera necessary. I thought he already knew that.
Despite his apparent imperturbable, cool, and diffident demeanor, Mr. Handsome is gifted in The Art of Agitated Running Commentary (TAARC). Here is just a small sampling of what that means. (The background is that the Baby Nickel flamboyantly and generously took a purple marker to our brown carpet.)
Mr. Handsome, upon discovering the latest artwork: “WHAT?! [Sharp intake of breath.] What happened to the rug? [Huffy-mad expulsion of air from lungs.] I have kids and they mess everything up! [Exasperated sigh, and calmer.] You know, I go into people’s houses and they have clean painted walls and no holes in their furniture. [Defeated sigh of resignation.] Someday when we’re eighty years old and smell like mothballs, we’ll have that, honey.”
Only forty-four more years to go. You’re almost halfway there, sweetie pie.
About One Year Ago: Apple Pie.
That rant sounds eerily familiar…
"We can't ever have nice things!"
"Forget it! I don't know why I even bother to (fill in the blank) when everything just gets ruined anyway!"
"Why can't anyone ever take care of anything around here!"
Dr. P, I was planning to use my everyday brown Old Navy flip-flops. I didn't get an opportunity to actually do any smacking, though. And that night we caught the little stinker in a trap. Now I don't shiver whenever I walk into my kitchen.
Just to clarify, I have nothing against how you feed your family, because you do a mahvelous job, dahling. I'm just being snarky and I wish I could eat dessert every single day and not get fat. Anyway, I misread your post and yes, he is nearly halfway to 80, isn't he (was thinking you meant halfway to end-of-life).
I really doubt that he is half-way. Of course, with his high fat and sugar diet, he just might be.
O.T.: that isn't my flipflop you are planning to bop the mouse with, is it?
As I was reading, I was wondering how exactly you had gotten into our house (nearly 1800 miles away) and overheard my own husband huffing about our brood's similar destructiveness. It made me laugh. I'll assure him this very evening that he's not alone in his frustration, and maybe we'll join you someday in smelling like mothballs! 🙂
It's me ...Mavis
1. I think that when you are eighty years old and smell like moth balls you in fact DON'T KNOW YOU SMELL LIKE MOTH BALLS….so that's some pretty good foresight….
2. I'm impressed that he sat down for a photograph….My husband would need to have a wee dram of something in order for me to take his photo…
3. You could always get vinyl slip covers for the furniture…but then you would stick to them…
4. Because I'm positive Mr. Handsome does not have enough things to do…. I'm, sure the kids would love a wall covered in chalkboard paint….then they could "write on the walls" … and it would be considered "art".
5. Being 36 is not bad….I've been 36 for a few months now…it's sorta that in between age of beginning not to care what other people do/ say /have…. It's actually been kinda fun… I highly recommend being 36.
You Can Call Me Jane
Some year, we need to get our birthday boys together for a picture. I think Jamey hates being photographed even more than Mr. Handsome.
Moth balls and Ben Gay. It's a HAWT combo.
Happy Birthday to the Mister!
please come visit us
I wouldn't care if he smelled like mothballs or not, I'd still think he's one handsome guy! (Duh, no wonder you call him Mr. Handsome.)
My husband would have to be heavily sedated and in a semi-comatose state to allow me to get pictures of him as you managed to do of Mr. Handsome.