Some people have written to me complaining that my husband has been unreasonably objectified by only ever being referred to as “my husband” in this blog and not being endowed with a charming nom de guerre like the rest of my family and friends.
And, of course, by “some people” I mean “no people” – but look, it was just a way of opening this post, okay?
Still, even if someone had written in complaining about that, they would be raising a fair point (and look, it’s too late to write in now, the point has been made. Let. It. Go.). In other blogs, I have seen the husbands referred to things such as “The Gate Keeper”, “The Donor”, “Him Outdoors” and “What’s-His-Face”. I guess my defence is that my husband is so many things to me it would be impossible to sum him up with any other name than “my husband”.
But if you really insist, here are a few alternatives I came up with:
1. The Enigma
The other day I caught my husband laughing at something. I asked him why and he said “You really don’t want to know”. But because he said I didn’t want to know, it made me want to know all the more. So I pushed him for an answer.
“Oh, I was just thinking of wearing a fez to breakfast.”
“Why??” was my immediate response.
“You asked!” he said. “Up til then it was still in my head so it wasn’t ready yet.”
Ready for what, I’ll never know. Perhaps that’s for the best.
2. My Rock
They say behind every blogger is a tolerant partner. My husband really is very tolerant and, indeed, supportive of my writing. Just the other day, I decided to get up at 5am every morning to write.
“That’s what Hemingway did.” said my husband. “And look what happened to him.”
“He got a Nobel Prize for Literature?” I asked.
“Well, yes. But he also became a cantankerous old man who nobody liked.” my husband said. “And then blew his brains out with a shotgun.”
3. The PICTAAECH (“The Person I Can Talk To About Anything, Even Cat Homosexuality”)
Recently we discovered that Genghis Cat has found himself a girlfriend a few doors up from our house and it warmed the cockles of our heart.
“Does it make you feel less guilty about having had him castrated?” I asked my husband.
“It probably be better if he found himself a boyfriend,” my husband replied. “With a girlfriend he’d need fully operational breeding tackle, but in a same-sex arrangement, he could get away without.”
Followed by a long pause while I thought about what castrati gay cats get up to.
“I can’t believe you just made me think about that,” I said.
My husband shrugged. It was all in a day’s work for him.
4. The WBMD (“The Wind Beneath My Doonah”)
5. The OTA (“The One True Artist”)
My husband has the real talent in the family. If you need proof, here is a cartoon he drew for Mr Justice:
But seriously, my husband is the better writer, the deeper thinker, the more creative soul between us. I just merrily skate along the surface in life but my husband is always thinking, thinking, thinking. And not always just about things like wearing a Fez At Breakfast, although I suspect that there was some deep ontological reason behind even that thought.
This week marks the 9th year of our marriage, while later this year we celebrate 11 years as a couple and 13 years as friends. I want to say thanks for the journey so far (and it has, as they like to say on Reality TV, “been a journey”). Whoever would have thought those two twenty-somethings in love would find themselves a decade later in a ramshackled weatherboard house trying to make major decisions about their lives with children scrambling over them like they were climbing frames.
Interestingly enough, etiquette dictates that a couple exchange “leather goods” in the ninth year of marriage. Yeah, baby! It’s our Leather Anniversary! Are you thinking what I’m thinking, my darling? Yes, I thought so: His & Hers Leather La-Z-Boy for the glorious years of slow decline ahead of us. Oooh, just the spelling of La-Z-Boy has got me all aroused….
Happy Anniversary, my husband.