... Why I'm Happily Married and My Friends Are Still Dating Freaks, Or ... The Joy Of Being Married To A REAL Man.

Most of you know I'm very pregnant, sick all the time, etc. Well, last week I also had a 24-hour stomach bug. Massive projectile vomit. I only freaked a little when it riccocheted off the wall back onto me. Yes, it was gross. Sometimes life is like that. Deal with it.

Anyway, my husband (who had the bug a few days before) loves me so much that he took all three children to Walmart for the express purpose of buying something he thought might possibly make me feel better -- chocolate ice-cream. The rational was that even if I couldn't keep it down, at least it wouldn't hurt coming up (unlike Doritos, which are pointy).

First, he gets credit for even having the thought. Second, he gets SO much credit for executing it. Third, I can't even calculate how much credit he gets for letting me soak in the bubble-bath while he took all three children. They came home with batman-bandaids, six hot-wheels cars, and ice-cream. This is one of those times when you just KNOW that you're loved. Really really loved, and even liked.

Sam called a few days later, and I told her about it. She shrieked "Gross! Thats not "sweet", thats just disgusting! Ewww."

Think [edit] another friend broke up with a fantastic guy because she decided that his fingers were stubby. That was his ONLY flaw. Good personality, good looks, good job, good family, good everything ... except for the perception of stubby fingers.

Me? I went for the nice guy, who happened to be smart. Ok, so I noticed he had fabulous eyes. Then I replaced his wardrobe and his barber. Soon everyone else noticed he had fabulous eyes! Now my friends whine "There aren't any perfect guys like yours around anymore. He's smart and nice and handsome. You got the only one!" None of them remember trying to talk me out of dating him because they didn't like his clothes.

But I remember. And I don't bother introducing them to the great guys that I do know. Afterall, they wouldn't be interested anyway. They're standards are all skewed. I'm reminded of something my great-great-aunt Rebecca used to say -- "I see I can't make you listen. So be it." I realized long ago I can't help them see the light. They keep doing the same thing and being shocked that they keep getting the same result.

I'm just glad that somehow I managed to keep my standards focused enough to recognize that my husband is practically perfect. Well, close enough to perfect that he retrieved ice-cream.