The Hub is 49 today. As he is no longer two years younger than me (which he is for ten days every year, and you can bet he makes the most of it…), he is no longer my Toy Boy (you can’t have it both ways, Hub).
As it’s his birthday, I intend to spoil him: I will refrain from snarky comments; and give him the biggest portion of dinner.
Happy birthday, my darling.
Here’s what you have to look forward to:
Don’t be afraid, my dear…
Killing Joke (2003 album) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A distraught older woman [about my age] is looking at herself in the mirror and crying. Her voice shakes as she says to her husband, “I’m so old. I’m so fat. I look horrible. I really need a compliment.”
Her husband, determined to quickly give his beloved the comfort she needs, exclaims, “Damn, you have good eyesight!”
*
I am a little fat. I like food; what can I say? I have dull hair: mousey. I don’t wear much make-up and have no need of a dressing table. If I look like a bag lady, I chose my own clothes. If I look nice, the Hub picked them for me. Despite all this, I am a little vain. This photograph is from 2003. I had to go back that far to find one of me that I liked. But I don’t really care: my husband still thinks I’m beautiful and if he doesn’t, he loves me enough to lie about it. I’m lucky. I have two boys. They never lie to me. Still, you can't have everything.
The Laughing Housewife 
I have the funniest readers in the blogosphere (not necessarily ha ha…)