marriage and unmentionables
When I sit back and take in my husband, I am astounded at my good fortune. It’s not just that he’s a solid human, compassionate, self-aware and adept at reading and communicating feelings. It’s not just that he cares so passionately for the underdogs of life or that he cooks straight to my heart. It’s that I might not have chosen him. Instead I could have believed the lie that I don’t deserve him, coming from a complicated past. Yet somehow, even with all my clumsy decisions prior to meeting him, I found the courage to believe that I could be with him and that he would want to be with me.
Suffice it to say, I adore my husband and I know how very lucky I am. At the altar he pledged to give me everything and so far he’s been fairly true to his word, except when it comes to his undergarments. A few years ago as we stood in our Brooklyn apartment prepping for a run over Manhattan bridge, he said to me with an air of severity and sincerity, “You’ve got to stop wearing my socks”. Apparently, he’s willing to give me everything but there is a line, right before knitted athletic footwear.
I’d like to say that my menswear theft stopped at his socks but it hasn’t. Whenever I ran out of clean PJ’s, I would grab an old t-shirt and then put on a pair of his boxer briefs. This was fine, until I kept up the practice after becoming very very pregnant. I stretched them out until my sweet husband finally bought me a couple new pairs of pajamas. I bought him some new boxers and that’s just one way that we complete each other. I also made a solemn promise not to wear his underwear anymore; a promise I broke later because, hey, I’m human and humans get behind on their laundry.
When it became clear that my own underwear was under severe stress from my pregnancy, he had the thoughtfulness to buy me some new ones post pregnancy (and maybe the foresight to save his own from a similar fate). A little 'push' present if you will. I pulled out 5 new pairs of panties, all just the right shape and cut. Then I looked at the size.
“Oh, these are medium. I’m a small”, I said. Good man that he is, he quickly apologized and gently suggested I try them on anyway. Turns out medium fits me a lot better these days. I hadn’t noticed that my old underwear gave me the ‘plumber look’. I sheepishly thanked him for the new underwear as he drew me in close and told me he loved my medium sized butt.
What can I say? Some men get the title ‘husband’ by default and some keep trying to earn it. I’m astounded at my dumb luck.