Oh, the things our husbands say. Well, at least mine. Sometimes, he just needs a sign that says (in big, red letters), "Help! Someone please pull my foot out of my mouth!" And fast.
He means well. I know he really does. Many times, he's just trying to diffuse an uncomfortable situation or make someone feel better by using humor. Oftentimes it works, and works well. Others...not so much.
One of Kyler's best friends is a girl. Well, I guess she's a grown woman now, but you get the idea. Growing up, I think maybe in high school, she got a haircut. (Correct me if I'm wrong here, Amy.) She was lamenting the fact that she hated her new cut, and going on about how disappointed she was with the way it looked. Kyler, no doubt trying to cheer her up (and use humor, remember he does that...), responds with, "I'm not sayin' you're ugly, but..."
Gasp. I know. He's brilliant, my husband.
Again when we were dating, I was (clearly) an emotional mess one evening, down on myself and generally put out with life. I was having a pity party, being ridiculously superficial and whining about the things I hate about myself. I know I am not the only one who does this, so I may as well get it out there. Anyway. I mentioned something along the lines of being ugly. Kyler's version of this story says I also said something about a dog, but I really just don't remember that. Maybe he's just trying to cover for himself? I don't know. Whatever. He leans over and tells me, "Yeah. If you're ugly, you're like one of those dogs that's so ugly it's cute."
Ummm...did he just call me a dog?!?!
Yeah. My reaction was...not great. (I get a lot of mileage out of that one!) In fact now, I tell this story often and pretty much can't stop laughing. Maybe because it makes him look like a big jerk, when I know....
He means well.
Today was no exception. I was having a bad day. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, had a big grumpy face, you know the drill. So finally, I got tired of it this afternoon. I've had a (reasonably) good week, and I just wanted a new attitude. But I wasn't quite through whining about it. Our conversation went a little something like this:
Me: "Why do I feel like this? I'm so tired and bummed out. What's wrong with me?"
Husband: "You didn't run yesterday."
Me: "Yes, I did."
Husband: "Oh yeah, you did, 'cause it was smelly downstairs."
Me: "Thanks for that, Babe."
Oh, my. The things that come out of his mouth! To his credit, he spoke the truth. I probably was smelly, but he was actually referring to our treadmill. It's a hand-me-down, and it is super old. And a little in disrepair. And I'm not entirely sure it's not going to spontaneously combust and shoot me across the living room one of these days. It makes absurdly loud noises, and when it's running, it does smell funny.
So there you go. He spoke the truth. It just didn't come out quite like he intended. Somewhere in that brilliant brain of his, he's got some wires crossed. Ha! And well, I guess I never really will understand that. Maybe because I'm not a guy. We'll leave it at that. It doesn't matter.
I know he means well.
Love you, Babe!