He looked me up and down.
Me: “Did you know there’s a Mandy Thompson who’s a Playboy model?”
Him: “You mean you’re not her?!”
[pause to sip coffee]
Him: “Our whole marriage has been based on a lie!!”
His exaggerated sarcasm and flattery sent me into waves of throw-my-head-back laughter.
I was leaning against the kitchen sink, trying to finish breakfast. I was still in my not-cute-at-all pajamas — you know, the frumpy faded & frayed stuff you wear when no one, not even your man, is looking. And to make matters worse, yesterday’s makeup had been forced to work overtime on a 24-hour shift, and had spent the night marching in smudged protest lines around my eyes…
And this isn’t the first time he’s looked at me like that while I looked like this.
In those moments, we fall in love all over again. In the moments that come with the everyday beauty of life – not the stuff that is a response to a twenty-year-old calorie-starved body. Not the stuff that makeup artists and photoshop designers can manipulate. Not the sunsets and soundtracks that movies are made of. Not the imaginary hook-up that today’s top-download on iTunes was written about.
Real love comes with real life. Stuff like dirty jeans spilling out of the clothes hamper or tears falling from honest eyes. Stuff that smells like fresh coffee and under-used dishwashing detergent and a neglected trash can. Stuff that sounds like the neighbor’s paranoid Doberman and the unyielding alarm clock and the argument that just happens sometimes.
That’s the kind of love that I want. And I’m so glad that it’s the kind of love that he wants, too.
