How do you love me? Let me count the ways…

I have never been a girl who wants her man to show affection by buying her shiny things. Every time one of my ghosts of boyfriends past bought me some piece of fancy, shiny jewelry I would just think, “Wow, this guy doesn't know me at all."

Ain’t no shame in love that is bought by the carat, but I’m with the kind of girl who falls head over heels when her husband gets on Etsy and buys her a necklace that reminds her of her brother who she lost.

Instead of, “My man loves me this many carats,” I prefer, “My loves me love me this many shitty diapers.” My husband loves me so much he emptied the dishwasher and trashcan without me nagging. He loves me so much he spent an extended stay at my parents house and didn't complain once. He loves me so much he watch the kids so I could go on a girls weekend.

Roses die, chocolate just makes my chubby ass even chubbier and where the hell am I going to where a fancy pair of diamond studs? I prefer more humble displays of affection, like giving me a second opinion on whether this mole looks funny to you, or rubbing my crusty, non-manicured feet while I watch Keeping Up With The Kardashians.

If I came home to a house lit with candles, chilled champagne and Barry White, I would ask my husband who the hell he was expecting and immediately set out to seek vengeance on the tramp. But if I came home to a house where a frozen pizza was already in the oven, a load of laundry was spinning in the washer and the kids were happily entertained watching an episode of that terrible little bastard, Caillou, I would jump my husband’s bones the minute those kids hit the sack. Or not. It’s been a really long day and mama's tired…

But I guess Marilyn Monroe wouldn't have been as famous had she sang, “Cleaning up my cat's puke is a girl's best friend."


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