Sometimes, I catch myself thinking I can’t stand my partner. Occasionally, I even mutter it under my breath when I trip over his shoes in the hallway or struggle to drift off to sleep amid the symphony of his snoring. Seriously, does he have to breathe like that? If only he could keep a rhythm, I might actually find it soothing.
During dinner, I glance at him from across the table and wonder how I overlooked those loud smacking noises he makes while eating back when we were dating. Did he really try harder to impress me back then? Can’t he hear himself?
In moments of bickering that escalate into full-blown arguments, when I know I’m right and he’s being unreasonable, I find myself daydreaming about what life would be like solo. A life where my opinion reigns supreme, where I wouldn’t find his receipts scattered throughout the house, or have to turn the car around again because he forgot his wallet. I imagine a world where I wouldn’t have to think of him, compromise, wait, or cook for him.
I ponder if I would have been better off with a different kind of guy. Someone who’s mindful of the sounds they make, who cleans up after themselves, and notices a messy countertop. There was that neat-freak boyfriend from college; I can’t help but wonder if I’d have been happier with him. Instead of nagging, he’d probably be the one doing the reminding. I picture that alternate reality and think about how amazing it would be to live with someone who prioritizes the little things like I do. My home would be spotless. My ears would be at peace.
But here I am, in this reality, with my partner, the one I chose. Sometimes, I catch him gazing at me and roll my eyes in disbelief. “What? Why are you staring?” “You’re beautiful,” he replies, and I shrug it off, pretending his words don’t make my heart flutter.
As we prepare for bed, I grimace at my reflection. I step on the scale and groan. “Stop it, you’re perfect just the way you are,” he says, toothpaste frothing from his mouth.
I have this strange habit with pistachios – I lick off all the salt, crack open the shell, and then suck on it some more. It’s a gross, sticky way to eat a snack. I even burp loudly, rating my burps on a scale of one to ten based on volume and duration. I’m not always the cleanest; I might leave my period underwear soaking in the sink and sometimes go days without showering. My hair gets greasy, and I detest bras, opting not to wear one at home. My body isn’t what it used to be, but my partner doesn’t seem to mind.
He frequently praises my figure, tells me I’m a fantastic mom, an amazing cook, and that I have a knack for interior design (which I definitely don’t). He marvels at my writing, saying, “I could never write a book; that’s just insane.” He makes me feel special, as if my existence is significant among billions. He sees my strengths and is blissfully unaware of my flaws. Why can’t he see my imperfections?
There are husbands out there who criticize their wives, suggesting they could use some weight loss or a little makeup. Not him. He accepts every part of me, flaws and all, and he can’t stay angry for long. It’s as if he doesn’t even know how to hold a grudge.
I could find someone who chews with his mouth closed, remembers to pick up his socks, or even doesn’t snore at all. But I could search forever and never find anyone who loves me as selflessly as he does. I’m not sure I deserve it, considering how easily annoyed I can be and my many imperfections. Loving me isn’t easy, yet he does it anyway.
He often tells me he’s lucky to have me, that he can’t fathom what he did to deserve me. The irony is colossal. He could have loved anyone this much—someone more deserving, someone who wouldn’t be bothered by the sounds of wet chewing. But for some reason, he chose me, and he continues to choose me every day, as if loving me is as natural to him as breathing.
In reality, he’s the lucky one.
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Summary
This blog humorously explores the complexities of married life, highlighting the author’s frustrations and the unique love shared with her partner, who remains blissfully unaware of her imperfections. Through relatable anecdotes, she reflects on the nature of their relationship, ultimately recognizing the depth of his unconditional love.