I wouldn't be sitting here blogging with a cappuccino on my left side and an 8x10 glossy of him holding the Vermont teddy bear I gave him for Valentine's day this year surrounded by candles on my right side. I would be in my full coat of armour, shot gun polished, his "suicide note" meticulously written and signed with the most technologically advanced forgery options available and an updated life insurance policy by my side. But, I do not honestly feel he is cheating on me. However, I find that this is a topic I am always confronting him about.
I use the word "confronting" extremely loose in this story because it's more like rhetorical banter that I just throw out at him when he is "ignoring" me by claiming to be busy "working", or "using the bathroom".....
Yeah...., WHATEVER!! I know the ole 'I'm using the bathroom trick!" Your slutty girlfriend is in there with you isn't she?
Ryan (my husband) is nothing less than an amazing creature! You can ask anyone that has known him for fifteen minutes or fifiteen years and their answers will all be the same. He is the most calm, collected, easy going, positive, gentle, laid back, hard working beer drinking guy you will ever meet.
Our landscaper, Omar, looks forward to "Thursdays with Ryan." Have you have ever heard of the book, Tuesdays with Morrie? It is a heartfelt story about a sociologist/professor who is dying from cancer. He meets with a former student on Tuesdays..(hence the name of the book). They talk about life and the professor shares his heartbreaking experiences and stories about his memories as a child during the nazi era.
Well, it's like that on Thursday's at our house. Minus a few details like the sociologist, former student, nazi camp scenario. It's just my husband and Omar venting about Omar's tails of woe.
Omar, a formidable man, in his mid thirties and as his name would reflect, dark, masculine features, shows up in his big ass landscaping truck. Armed with his big ass chainsaws, hacking tools and big ass cans of gasoline.
He jumps down from his big ass truck and immediately scours the area for any sign of Ryan. Sorta like the robot in Terminator. Remember how that robot looked around with his beady little robot eyes hunting down John Connor? If Ryan isn't outside, Omar will tap on the kitchen window and motion towards Ryan's office window with his pointer finger and mouth in slow motion "Issss Ryyaannn hoommeee?" I feel it is my obligation to coach Ryan into going outside and seeing what he has to say.
Ryan listens on intently, knodding and agreeing as if they were best girlfriends. Sometimes I look out of the kitchen window to find them chatting quite intensely.
Omar will have a forlorn look upon his face, the bill of his ball cap tucked between his fingers while wiping his sweaty brow with the forarm of the same hand. I can only see his mouth moving, but I will get to hear the whole story over dinner so I don't bother worrying that I am missing something juicy. (Sometimes, believe it or not, his stories are juicy). Ryan listens until Omar is done, he's just that kinda guy. He's just someone that everyone feels comfortable talking to about anything.
I met Ryan when he was eighteen. I was a much more mature, beguiling twenty year old. He worked at a cd store while going to college and I was doing an internship at a furniture store two doors down.
The first time Ryan saw me he said he wanted to marry me..... I was like... Ryan who? But it didn't take me long to see that he possessed a natural ability to nurture and care for people. Twenty years later, I still see the same consistant loving person in front of me....... But that doesn't excuse his cheating!
Now that I have described Ryan and immersed you with his good qualities....back to his dirty rotten cheating ways..............
I don't know why I find it so humerous to constantly badger him about his cheating ways. He will say something like, "I'm going to Home Depot to pick up, I don't know, let's say bran muffins." and I'll respond with... "Yeah, WHATEVER! Is your fat ass girlfriend meeting you at McDonalds for lunch afterwards?"
Or I will accuse him of hiding his pack of sluts in the basement if I hear unusual noises coming from that direction.
Sometimes, I think he keeps his tramps hidden on that Captain Morgan bus he "rented" for my birthday. Yeah..WHATEVER! Rents that bus my ass, he probably owns a couple of those buses to house all those tramps. (Does anybody know if that is a tax write off?) I am confident that since I keep track of his visa bill, he has "them" doing "street walking gigs" on the side to support all of his hookers scattered around the world. Gotta be able to support all that "BLING" without a paper trail!!"
The first ten years he used to just look at me and shake his head. Now, he's gotten so well aquainted with my crazy antics, that he smoothly plays the silly and basically useless game along with me if for no other reason than it simply kills the time, and usually satisfies one of my MANY demented cravings.
Last night we are laying in bed. He is leaving at 4:30AM to get on a plane headed for Park City Utah for two days of .... huh umm.... "work"..... "Yeah...WHATEVER!" I snuggle up next to him. With an average body temperature of 104 degrees, (fahrenheit) the man is a virtual human inferno! He is so cozy! I dig my cold hands under his hairy armpit and nestle my head under his scruffy neck comforted by the security his warmth brings. Even though I know it aggravates the living tar outta him, he giggles and let's me have my fun.
I get all comfy and I whisper in his ear "Are you excited to see your girlfriend tomorrow?" I don't even plan to say this, at this point it just comes out. A thoughtless process brought on by years of random accusations of imaginary infidelity. Almost on cue and without hesitation he retorts, "I can't wait! I have her staying at the Red Lion Inn with me." (Which, by the way, is the equivalent to a really bad Motel Six on the side of the highway attached to an old truck stop with showers and everything.) He then goes on to mention that I should realize by now what a sex machine he is and how it is his "job" to travel around the globe and satisfy his heirem of woman, and if I can't accept his curse of sexual greatness then I need to just move on. Then he kisses me on the..................forehead.
Snuggling even tighter now and more secure than ever, I laugh wickedly and turn out the lights!
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