Tattooed Manchild

42. Aren’t husbands so cute when they get to that age? Just about half way through with their midlife crisis (if you’re lucky). You’ve probably already relented and let him buy that sports car or motorcycle he’s been bugging you about for years. You know, the one where he rolls up and all the young kids stare and then they turn away when they realize it’s an ‘old guy’ with a receding hair line and middle aged paunch.

For my husband it’s tattoos. After many years, my husband is finally getting the tattoo sleeves he’s always wanted, going to the local tattoo artist to get band emblems and video game icons (sympathetic eye rolls appreciated) burned into his skin until they cover every inch of his arms.

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As a matter of fact, I think my husband is subscribing to the ‘How to Be the Rock Star You Always Wanted to Be’ school of thought. He is now working on his guitar skills and programming music on the computer. This is all great except for when he follows me around the house saying “Hey, listen to what I wrote, listen to what I wrote,” while I am attempting to do chores.

The best was when I woke up one morning and found him on the computer still awake from the night before. It seems a bout of insomnia inspired an all night writing session and drinking binge (thankfully these are rare). My husband then proceeded to spend the next hour giggling like a schoolgirl while I attempted to do my exercise videos before passing out in bed. Oh well, at least he helped me clean the bathroom that morning.

And speaking of cleaning, does anyone have a husband who willingly cleans? If so, he is not just a keeper. Ladies, tie this man to your bedpost and never let him out of your site. Even if I am on my deathbed, if I ask my husband to clean, he acts like he is being imparted the death sentence. Never is my husband so close to tears as when he is cleaning. On the other hand, he also follows the religion of Never Putting Anything Away. It’s gotten to the point where I have accepted his dirty underwear as a familiar living room centerpiece.

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And there are so many other adorable habits that come at this stage.  Just today he took a picture of me and I thought he was being sweet.  It turns out it was only because I was wearing a particularly low cut blouse. Enter here my husband emitting compulsive Beavis- like laughs and grunts. In fact if Beavis and Butthead were to ever grow out of their perpetual 14 year old state of animation, they would probably grow up to be my husband.

Now here is the part where I might wax sentimental about how my husband is, and always has been a good father and provider for my family and how deep and strong our love is. But you don’t really want to hear that. What I will say is this… many times after my husband does something that makes me wonder how he ever got through life successfully, to this point, I turn to him and say, “You’re an idiot”, and then he turns back to me and says, “Yes, but I’m your idiot” and you know, I suppose he is right.

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4 thoughts on “Tattooed Manchild

  1. Pingback: Recovery Update #4: You Are A Tree | Forge The Mettle

  2. I’ve never read any of your old stuff. This was recommended under today’s post, and I was surprised that it wasn’t a poem. When did you make the switch?

    • I think I started transitioning about a year ago. When I was younger I mostly wrote songs and poetry. It’s just easier for me to convey an idea that way. You can be more vague. Thanks for your interest.

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