I’m not trying to pick a fight, but there’s something you’ve
been doing for a while now that really gets on my nerves, so I need to say
You’ve been getting hotter.
And it’s a problem.
When we first got together seven years ago, you and I were
roughly equal on the attractiveness scale. If anything, I had the edge because I’d
already perfected my “style.” (You needed a wife, a.k.a. me, to do that for you.)
Now that we’re both in our 40s, I’ve noticed an alarming
trend. My looks are gradually fading, and yours, well, aren’t. In fact, you
seem to be getting more attractive.
For example, you’ve been adding a few gray
hairs to your otherwise dark, wavy mane, and they are literally the perfect
salt to your pepper. Like, Patrick Dempsey and George Clooney wish they knew
your hair secret. Me, I’m at the salon every 10 weeks desperately tinting and
highlighting. Nobody wants to see the dishwater situation I’d be working if I
let my hair go au natural.
Then there are the laugh lines around your eyes and mouth
that somehow manage to make you look smarter, funnier and more devilish than
you already are. Whereas I’ve been comparing rates for Botox and
contemplating a chemical peel.
Parenthood has changed both of us, but in totally different
Becoming a mother added pounds to
my waistline (worth it) and a furrow to my brow (you'll pay for the Botox?) But you are somehow stronger and more
muscular, perhaps from tossing around our two monkeys in that effortless "Dad in a stock
photo" way. Plus, you went from not knowing how to change a diaper to being able
to take two small children out to breakfast by yourself, which I find pretty damn
I’m aging normally. And you’re Benjamin
Buttoning. It’s very aggravating.
Yup, fatherhood is making you hotter, like that’s fair.
And back to your aforementioned style. Can we admit that
when I met you, there was an unnecessary skull and crossbone design on nearly every one of
your shirts? Not only did I weed out the Ed Hardy, but I totally upgraded your
wardrobe. Plus I steered you away from Supercuts
to a trendy hair salon with a stylist named “Tree.” You’re welcome.
Not to beat a dead horse, but you could totally beat a dead
horse wearing my clothes, because after having two babies, everything in my closet is
dark, stretchy and machine washable. I know. You miss the cocktail dresses. Me
too. But not the footwear. Stilettos hurt like hell.
Look, I appreciate a handsome husband as much as the next gal (don't get any ideas, next gal) but I swear I'd be just as attracted to you if you developed bags under your eyes or a double chin like a middle-aged person should.
So in summary, I’m aging normally. And you’re Benjamin
Buttoning. It’s very aggravating. Please, stop drinking green juice and grow a
beer belly already. It’s the least you could do.