Wednesday, 13 March 2013

My husband has some broken bits

My husband has some broken bits
13 March 2013

My husband has some broken bits.  In fact, he’s partly damaged.

And I’m not just talking about the obvious broken bits.  I won’t even mention his hair follicle failure (apart from this once).  I won’t go on and on about his lack of head covering (that’s twice).  Or how he is unable to just darn well grown any (that’s thrice). 

I’m talking about his other broken bits.  For one, his internal thermometer is trashed.  Well and truly gone.  He has no concept of cold.  While I’m shivering and covering up, he claims to be blistering hot and requiring a swim.  And once he employs enough blackmail or persuasion (it depends on his material and if I’ve been bad), I might deem to join him.  But whereas I find our little inflatable pool quite cold occasionally, he bemoans the fact that it’s warm and nearly like bath water.  Is.  He.  Friggin.  Mad!!!  I would not bath in bath water if it was that cold.

And then in winter, I pull the duvet right over my head, keeping as warm as toast, while he fans himself open, exclaiming heat stroke.  Bizarre!

But is this the only example of his severely broken bits?  Oh no!  I think his tongue is also broken.  Ruined beyond belief.  His threshold for burny foods, is right off the scale.  In fact, he adds even more condiments to already burny food, to push the burn button to the max.  I suspect, his throat is in actual fact a steel pipe.  Burned clean every so often, by consumption of copious quantities of chillies.  Most odd.  I prefer my food to soothe me, not give me pain.  To give me comfort, not cause calamity.

He likes early nights (well, early-ish).  Personally, I can’t see the point.  He likes early mornings (well, early-ish).  Personally, I can’t see the point.  So his clock is also on the blink too.

And still, the abnormalities don’t stop there.  Some are perhaps less obviously visible to the eye. But believe you me, appearances aside, they’re there.

His ears are problematic too.  On many different levels.  Firstly, I blame them for his lack of ability to multi-task.  Unlike me, he is unable to simultaneously listen to Cole’s reading, Amber’s piano playing, as well as having the background noise of Luke watching a game of soccer on TV and explaining the finer intricacies of the game of football at the same time.  What’s wrong with him?  Hello!  Why else does he have a SET of ears???  It is not a coincidence.  Just point them in different directions, tune in on different levels and frequencies, and all can be done.  As easy as that.

Furthermore, he still has not reached saturation level with 80’s music.  Now don’t get me wrong.  Some of it was rather lovely and really, really good.  And there’s some stuff I thoroughly enjoy and listen to still.  But Jeez-Louise!!!  There’s only so much Depeche Mode and Duran Duran one can listen too.  Please, let’s not “Break The Silence”.  Really!  “It’s all I ever needed”, and “All I ever wanted”.  I reach a breaking point, where I fear my ears might start bleeding.  Personally, I blame the synthesizer.  It gets me every time.

And another thing – his threshold for anything related to sport is remarkable.  Far higher and more evolved than mine.  He watches it on TV.  He reads about it in the newspapers.  He talks about it to family (male relatives only) and friends (also friends of the male persuasion only).  He looks up info about it on the Internet too.  Many, many, many different sports.  He seemingly has an endless and indeed unquenchable thirst for it.

And the same can also be said for his fascination with the Second World War.  Can’t imagine where Luke got his fascination for it too?  But then again, he enjoys documentaries, programmes and books about other wars too.  The conflict in Iraq, Palestine, Vietnam – heck, even the Falkland wars.  Go figure.  Boys!

But I’ve done a bit of thinking.  And perhaps in his opinion, I too have broken bits.  Very many of them.

My love for photos, my adoration of crafting things, my blogging addiction, my absorption in my family, the way I can ooh and aah over pretty things like buttons and ribbons, my deep love for antique shops, my fetish for quirky things, the way I don’t like to go to bed early, the way I get cold easily, my ability to naturally and effortlessly grow hair…..

But here’s the thing.  I actually like my broken bits.  They make me, me.  And, truth be told, I actually like Grant’s broken bits too.  They make him, him.

And therefore I embrace them.  Every single one.  Just think about it.  If Grant did have hair, I wouldn’t be able to paint polka dots on his head (did that for fun one day – though, I did find it a lot more funny than he did – he looked like the cutest little Dalmation you’ve ever seen, and sadly I don’t think he’d be happy if I shared the pics).  I wouldn’t be able to blog so easily if he also went to bed late, as I always post late at night, usually once he’s in bed.  I wouldn’t so easily be able to hide an awful bout of supper with Chutney and chilli sauce.  And so the list goes on.

Which means, that I might just volunteer to go for a swim with him today, all on my own.  No begging required.          

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