Dear Rex -
I don't normally write letters to you as part of my column. This is because you rarely read me, so what's the point? But then I think about little Leta, the famous offspring of Dooce's daughter who gets a published letter signed by "Mama" every month. From the zillions of photos, videos and writings I've seen, it's clear that Leta is brilliant, beautiful and clever, but it's highly doubtful she reads the columns either. It doesn't make the impact of the sentiment any less important.
No, Ms. Armstrong writes those letters as much for her as she does for her daughter. So perhaps I'll start my own tradition. After all, it's so easy in marriage to forget about the day to day joys that I just take for granted.
Like how you came home for lunch yesterday, and before we walked, juiced up my car battery. When I can't turn on my computer and check my emails "just one more time" you do that doodle-hick-button-push-thing that gives me an excuse to slip out of life for five more minutes, then no doubt later complain that "we don't spend enough time together."
You listen to my stories about work, the neighbor who sneaks into the backyard for our free firewood even though she sends her kids to private school and we're schlepping across the Valley every day to give our babies the best public education on the planet. And speaking of school, you patiently listen to me analyze every single step of Stink's kindergarten progress, as well as always act like you won the lottery when they present you with a birdseed "G" or a picture of a fish that looks more like a cow with a horrid case of gas.
The other day, when I was worried about my mom, and about our son that seemed too pale for his own good, you sat there and let me cry. You didn't tell me to grow up. You didn't tell me to get over it. You simply took in my blubbering, occasionally nodded, and then did the most loving thing of all: You got off your ass and bought me a Diet Coke the size of my lower intestine.
That landed me with a case of gas not much better than the heifer in Stink's artwork, but you just laughed. And then, even with my puffy red eyes and nerves of jelly decided that I was worth sharing a bed with (and stealing the covers.)
For all the things I needle you for, rest assured those are still the things I hold dearest to my heart: Your honesty, stability, and steady eddy nature that keeps getting me invited to corporate cocktail parties where I love to tell your fellow executives, "Hi, I'm Rex's wife.... Do I work? As a matter of fact, I do. (Pause...) I write a sex column."
Oh, your sense of humor? That's not so bad either.
I love you.
Me
Posted by Andrea Frazer
Good Housekeeping
* For More Tips & Tricks You Can Count On: Subscribe to Good Housekeeping & Save!
* New Year's Day Brunch Ideas
* Do You Need a Makeover?
* De-Draft Your Home Today
* What's Your Hairstyle Personality?
Reprinted with Permission of Hearst Communications, Inc.
