You Belong to Me

When I met my husband he told me almost immediately that I needed to be with him. I didn’t know him, and I was understandably doubtful. But I like to let people explain themselves. The cockier they are the more I like to hear them out, if anything just to bring them down a peg or two. And so I let him in. Let him state his case.

I would say, but what about my husband? And he would say, “he will understand”. I would say, but what about my lover? And he would say, “fuck him”. I would say, but I hardly know you! And he’d look at me like oh come on. Really? He’d say the most arrogant things, like, Nope, sorry, you’re going to be with me. It’s your turn to be happy and I am the person who will do that. Obviously he was very convincing.

A story from the past

Picture The Stoner Mom in high school. Cute. Bored. Goth girl. Little interest in the boys at school. If I did happen to like a boy he would have to fit the archetype. Intelligent, pale, skinny, moody, preferably in a band…  I was that girl. Smoking Djarums in a plaid skirt, eyes rimmed in black (not visible with the coke bottle glasses I assume.) The absolute last on my list of guys to be interested in were jocks. But then there was this one guy, named Bud.

Bud, if you ever stumble upon this blog, hello. Hope you are well.

Bud the jock was a senior, had rocks for brains, and was short. He was also pretty ripped. So basically, not my type. But Bud had one thing going for him. A weird sense of confidence that assumed I would be interested in him. He would try to command my attention, and his abrasiveness confused me so much that I became strangely interested. Just like that.

Isn’t that the plight of the pleaser. But yes, I think that was the first time that a guy’s strong, arrogant personality was the driving factor in my interest.

My father did end up chasing him off my porch though, and when Bud admitted his terror to me the next day at school, I lost interest. /bud.

But Back to Us

David has said I’m the dream girl he would have snapped rubber bands at to get her attention. He’s like that still, at 45, every day working for my love, doing something for my attention. And he doesn’t need to do it! Because I adore him so much, but his attentions do crack me up.

Showing off. Performing feats of strength. Coming home with presents. Always on guard lest I be stolen. He doesn’t get complacent, he doesn’t like to be still. But the thing that makes me crazy about him is that he never takes me for granted. I mean, I’m sure part of that is the newness still. But… he’s not some spring chicken. I don’t know that he can take me for granted at this point. I think he thinks I’m the best he could have hoped for. That makes me feel insanely lucky because I feel the same way.

I didn’t know it when I was younger but this is the type of guy that I love. Some people need a lot of reassurance. “Proof” if you will. I am one of those people big time. It’s not just like gifts, but attention. Always being the center of sincere interest. My first husband was not that type. He was the old-fashioned kind, that could build a house, hunt a deer, build a rocket and support a family. Steadfast is how I think of him, and that steadfastness is how he showed love.

There are so many people who would love a partner like that. The quiet and strong man.

I like it too, but I know now that I like other things more. I like shows of bravado. I like toughness. I like knowing I have the type of husband that I can say “just wait till my husband hears about this!”  Men that get worked up, that you shrink from a little. I guess, and try to understand, but I guess I like guys that are like my dad. Providers and stable yes, but also cocky and arrogant and afraid of nothing.

That’s what I like.

And so he stole me. With that attitude of his. With his endless yammering. He stole me away and I was the most willing treasure.