Have you ever had an argument with a pretty person? Not like when you argue with yourself whether Kim Kardashian is a bad influence on young girls or if she might be the new enhanced face of feminism. Not those arguments. I mean real arguments. The ones where you go back and forth passionately debating your point of view then get completely overwhelmed with how pretty your opponent is so you start a whole new argument based solely on the injustices of their perfect cheekbones. Yep, those arguments. Well, I married those cheekbones.
I’m married to a man who is universally hotter than me and it’s harder to live with than I originally thought.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m no dropped pie, but there isn’t a ‘hot wifey’ hashtag hanging around my neck. That’s not to say I don’t get my own compliments from time to time. A nice lady once told me I looked like Ricky Lee Coulter, before she lost all the weight, which is nice. But the phone isn’t ringing off the hook with offers to replace Megan Fox in ‘Transformers 4’. I am, however, getting a lot of offers to co-host radio shows. So yeah, I’ve kind of got it going on. But shit man! Enough already!
I met #hothusband 13 years ago when he was wearing head-to-toe cheese cloth, and had dreadlocks down to his far-too-fantastic bum. A look he totally bossed around. He owned those dreads much like Jack Sparrow rocks that sexy ‘can’t quite pinpoint where it’s from’ accent. He has since shaved his head and no longer wears edible clothes and he is still AMAZING. The kind of amazing that brings elderly, long-sighted strangers across busy streets as they feel compelled to let me know I’ve done pretty well for myself.
I realised early on in our relationship that ground rules needed to be laid. I am funny. You are hot. OK? I’m hilarious. You’re breathtaking. I believe this is something that needs to take place in any relationship when the roles are so obvious. And it needs to happen early, around the ‘are you serious about flannelette sheets all year round?’ And ‘do you wee in the shower?’ conversations. As nothing is worse than when one party feels they can do a cross over. Much like a model-turned-actor – it seems like a great idea but turns out to be kind of embarrassing and leaves people feeling betrayed.
Not only am I super funny and a gifted tap dancer but I’m smart. I created some offspring with my Maori Adonis. Two boys that have people on my side of the family being very kind and honest, saying our boys are so handsome and the perfect mix of the two of us. This is the truth. The general public are not so diplomatic. #hothusband and I were at a kids party on the weekend and I was sitting next to a well-dressed lady who was looking longingly at my eldest son and husband – much the same way I was looking at the lolly table.
‘Your son is a handsome boy.’
‘He really is a looker isn’t he?’
‘Well I think so, but I’m a bit biased.’ (Polite laughter)
‘He’s the spitting image of his father. You didn’t get a look-in love.’
‘Well, I think there is a little bit of me in him.’
‘You must be happy he chose you to have children with. I’m going to have to tell the girls about him at Bridge on Wednesday. Would you like some more cake, love?’
I like that he makes others feel confident to tell me how lucky I am, I guess I should wear my tap shoes around more and really turn the tables on who’s the ‘lucky’ one.
NB – My husband is excellent. If I met him on Kiss Bang Love, I would have kissed him blindfolded and married him on the spot. He’s kind, smart, caring and very, VERY patient. He’s a fun dad and has really thrown his back into tolerating me. I love him with all the wine in the fridge.