The other day I was at the mall. You know, I rail against malls, but I find myself more and more spending time in malls, just looking at people and eating in the food courts. I just enjoy the experience.
Well, here I was, watching people walk by. It was such a nice experience – lost in watching other people, and all of a sudden, a little boy, probably four or five years old, falls down hard. He initially is shocked, then looks for his mother, a few steps in front of him. About three seconds afterwards, the mother turns around, and as she is turning around, the child starts crying loudly. Delayed reaction – if no one could see his pain, he would not have cried.
He was a cutie, too. His mother cradled him, told him that everything was going to be alright. And she was present during his "pain."
And I think about bloggers, and I sometimes wonder if we are just five-year-olds in adult bodies, writing and wanting others to feel our pain, notice our trials. Just a thought.
He Man or She Man
My husband has been watching musicals lately, and it sort of feels weird. I almost accused him of being gay the other day. It would have been in jest, but it would have really damaged his ego. I am glad I kept my mouth shut.
I keep telling girlfriends I enjoy how sensitive my man is, but I only want him to be "so" sensitive. Take musicals. I mean, I don't want my man to be that interested in musicals. Sure, he might want to see Hair because of the nudity, but some musicals are just not manly. Even though I love Chorus Line, even the "Tits and Ass" number can't save it for the real man. Oklahoma. P-lease. I love these musicals, but having my hubbie love them is different. Yeah, paint me intolerant, but it is mildly disturbing.
No, I don't want hubbie's knuckles dragging on the ground when he walks, but I want him to be a real man. The kind of guy who every once in a while just bangs me because he is horny. Most of the time, I like the tenderness, but I want the passion, the animal "bend over and take this" that he sometimes provides.
I like that he eats twice as much meat as me. That he will eat a salad, but only as a side dish to a meal that needs a steak knife. I like that he goes to church with me, that he opens the door for me after all of these years. But I also enjoy that once in our pew, he is as often liable to dose off during a long Mass. He is my man, and I like his manly habits.
About a year ago, my Dad was being sort of an ass, and my hubbie put him in his place. I could not say anything at the time, but I was so in love with him, wanted him so badly at that moment, just because he was being my man. A strong man who was voicing his opinion loudly and surely.
And I like that he doesn't care if I ask him to buy feminine pads. Because he is a man and does not care what others think. Sure, when we were younger, his friends would consider this being whipped. I never really understood that – if you are p-whipped, I would guess you are getting some. For young men, I am not sure they have much more on their minds.
Removing My Label Once and For All
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