The other night when the girls were in bed I took a bath. This is an event so rare it is worth remarking on. Colin Firth was conspicuously absent. ( I refer you back to this gem so you’ll know what I’m talking about –https://mumabulous.wordpress.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=3696&action=edit). However as I shared my hot tub with two mermaids, Kronosaurus, Albertosaurus and Stegosaurus, it was still quite a party.
Instead of abandoning myself to what should have been a luxurious thirty minutes of peace, I contemplated the unrighteousness of my abs. Forgive my bragging but back in the era when Krono, Alberto and Stego ruled the earth, I had a tummy like a table top. Nowadays my core is comparable to a gentle hillock. It is a grassy knoll which could conceal a mystery gun man.* I did a mental calculation and concluded that I don’t have time to return to the gym. I should instead work with the fit ball in front of the television. Its a cunning plan. Sadly it has one major flaw – I don’t have time to watch the television. I briefly toyed with a novel concept. If I stopped faffing I might be able to schedule a forty minute work out a couple of nights a week. I immediately shut down that thought. Faffing is too much to sacrifice in the pursuit of fitness. I metaphorically pressed “control”, “alt”, “delete” and reset my brain to its current default mode – ie. swinging between Fass and Hiddles.
I sprung out of bed the following morning and encountered Dadabulous who had already risen. Let me rephrase that. I used a mental crow bar to extract myself from the cosy flannelette sheets all the while muttering obscenities about the gross unfairness of having to get up and face the day again. As I lumbered zombie like towards the wardrobe Dadabulous surprised me by declaring “you look good”. That woke me up!
I instantly reverted to analyst-abulous mode, giving my poor husband detailed reasons as to why he is wrong and I DO NOT look good. The expression on his face turned to the despair. Men just love reassuring us over every little fault in our appearance. It makes them feel masterful and priapic* – NOT. This kind of behaviour is a complete drag so why do we insist upon doing it? Why can’t we just take a compliment graciously?
Firstly describing Dadabulous as a smart guy is the understatement of the year. To illustrate – he recently built a spectrophotometer from its component pieces and coded it up. Admittedly he had help from an employee with a degree in mechatronics but still he’s the BOSS. The Springsteen of spectrophotometers. If he can work out sensitive light measuring equipment, he can have a valid opinion of my wobbly bits. Secondly rather than being a point of contention, getting a compliment from my husband should bring about a fist pumping the air response. I’m 42, with two kids and have been with the guy for nine years. If he still thinks I look good its a cause for celebration. He may be the only man on earth who feels this way but he’s the only man who needs to.
Does this sorry scenario play out at your abode? Can you take a compliment from your partner or do you argue the point? Why do we do this?
OK for those folk who sold their vote in the AWC competition in exchange for a tasty morsel of crumpet, I will do everything in my power to deliver in time for IBOT. If I don’t manage this deadline, please keep in mind that your crumpet will not be delayed as long as the NBN. Naturally someone requested the Ryans – so here’s a little something to keep you going. I don’t know about you but my economy gets overstimulated at this kind of talk. The RBA has to raise the cash rate to cool it down.
* A reference to theories surrounding President Kennedy’s assassination and an episode of Seinfeld.
* My favorite word after Annabel Crabb used it to describe Kevin Rudd. Dictionary.com defines it as – characterized by or emphasizing a phallus: priapic figurines, (of an image) suggestive of or resembling a phallus by its shape, exaggeratedly concerned with masculinity and male sexuality.