Tags

, , , , , , ,

Have I told you about how sweet and sensitive my husband is? No? Oh, that’s because he isn’t. I mean, he can be when he wants to be, (and lately I feel he should really, really want to be given the current state of my body and mind) but usually he is blunt and jokes a lot and takes everything too far. Normally, I handle this well, and give it right back, but lately (again; current state of body, mind and hormone levels) I’m annoyed and irritated by his little jokes. It is nice that he helps me up from the couch, but is it necessary to say, “Come on Hoss!” in the process? Must he comment on my cankles? Is it necessary to tell me the ass is blown out of my pants when it ISN’T, causing me to panic?

Last weekend we were in the van, driving around to various places doing errands. Mid conversation about something I’m sure was actually important, he looks at me and nearly yells, “Oh my God! Look at that hair on your lip!” And then he starts laughing. Hysterically. I pull the mirror down to look, and sure enough, I have a big fat black hair on my upper lip. “Oh my God, there’s another one on your neck!” We are now stopped at a light, and my husband has his laughing face inches from my beard, exploring the territory. I see the neck hair in the mirror.

“Listen, I told you when I’m pregnant, the hormones make me hairy! It must be extra testosterone or something…” (I have no idea if there is any science backing that up, but whatever.) I feel my face getting hot and I start digging through my purse looking for tweezers.

“Holy shit! That thing looks like it has a mind of it’s own…” and off he goes. Beating the hairy dead horse while I search, unsuccessfully, for the damn tweezers.

“Just shut up!” I yelled at him and tossed my purse on the floor, apparently tweezers are only available when you don’t need them. He continued laughing but didn’t say anything else about my facial hair for awhile. I was self conscious about it for the rest of the time we were out and promptly plucked the offenders when we got home but not before he asked for a quick kiss and screamed, “Ow! Your moustache cut me!” and dissolved into giggles like a little boy. (That’s probably when I huffed off to the bathroom to pluck.) I love him immensely, I really do. But I just may kill him before this baby comes out.

Advertisements