What About Bob?

My husband and I have a wonderfully strange relationship. We are best friends, partners in crime, kissy face huggy bear pals, and all the rest that goes along with having a pretty darn good marriage for the last 34 years. One of the things I noticed lately is the way we converse with one another. It seems maybe a bit less than normal when compared to some of our family and friends. Then I realized, this is our normal.

They look so normal and yet...

“Bob, why do you put the trash bags on the can so tight? I can never get the dang things off without fighting my way through the entire stinking process. You know I’m the weaker vessel.”

“Whatever! I use to believe that weaker vessel crap but not anymore.”

“Smart man.”



Then there are the constant jokes. Every day. Constantly. All the time. For the last 38 years. With promise of at least another 38 years. Jesus, Mary and Joseph pray for me.

I dig your pink guitar, Baby. No really. It's so, so, so, YOU!

“♪♪ Wasting away again in MarlaRitaville. Looking for my lost shaker of fart. Some people say that there’s a woman to blame but I know, it’s my darn wife’s fault ♪♪ . You know, honey, there is something seriously wrong with me.”

“Yes, I believe there is, Bob.”


I hate to even bring up this next Bob subject. I really do but in the hopes of possibly helping someone else out there, I will share this piece of our life. My darling, my sweetheart, my luvah, has the worst sense of timing when it comes to certain things. I am not going to say what things specifically but let’s just say, “things”. For instance, Bob is on vacation right now which means he is here. All. The. Time.



Constantly.

All. The. Time.

“Hey Baby. Wanna snuggle? Hehehe”

“Wow! That is a great idea. Tell ya what, as soon as I get the 5 loads of laundry sorted and started, something taken out for dinner, the grandkids in front of a movie, the horses, pig, chickens, dogs, cats, geese and Harley fed and watered, the bills paid and Ebay listed for the day, I will be all about snuggling with you. It's all about you, baby.”

“Awesome. Thanks for always putting me first, darlin.”

“Smart alec.”



Anyway, I noticed something else lately. When I post things about my husband, there are some of you that actually feel sorry for him. You leave me comments or send me emails saying you are worried about him or how hard it must be for the old man to be married to me. Stuff like that. I want to thank you for taking the time to look out for the guy and for giving me a good laugh along your worry journey. So, I was thinking maybe I would turn this little old blog over to the man himself. You know, to defend himself, defend my honor (oops! too late for that) and other nonsense. So here is your chance. Send me your questions and I will interview the man, the myth, the legend in his own mind, the white guy extraordinaire, Mr. Robert E. Hansen.

Mr. and Mrs. White Guy