There’s not much better for comic relief than marriage advice from a jeebanger. Here’s one who says we should probs not be fatties, because it shows we don’t care about our spouses.
Sure. If you marry a jeebot.
Before we take a closer look at her argument…
Godless Mom got back. I have never been, and never will be, a stick. In my opinion, I have curves in all the right places, and it’s more often than not proven by my frequent use of the phrase, “Hey fucktard, the eyes are up here!”. My weight has fluctuated like any 30-something mom and I am not fucking ashamed of that. I’ve never been without the adoration of men, and I think that has a lot to do with my realness, both in personality and body shape. I don’t make excuses for why I don’t have washboard abs, because I don’t fucking care. This is how I look now (pardon the canine, who would not move):
But no matter what I’ve looked like, or how out of shape I’ve gotten, Godless Dad has always, always looked at me like there is no better looking woman in the world. He’s a man of few words, but he doesn’t need to say anything for me to know how he feels. There is not a single molecule in my body that believes that if I ballooned to some level of morbid obesity, he would stop looking at me like that. He will always see the woman he loves, no matter what I look like.
I feel the exact same way about Godless Dad, who is also not skinny.
That, is what marriage is.
This Biblically inspired wifey disagrees.
She says,
Most of us are not the size we were when we first got married. And honestly, whether we’ve popped out three kids or had one too many donuts during 20 years of driving a rig, most of us will never fit back into the honeymoon bikini or the high school football jersey we remember so fondly. And we might wonder: how important is that to our spouse, really?
No, actually, I don’t wonder that. You wanna know why? Because I married a man who loves me for who I am. And if he hung his love on the caveat that I must look the part, well then, nice knowing ya, Godless Dad. Peace.
Sure, I could have easily married one of the dozens of douchebags who asked me out, actually dated me and who’ve extended one of the 4 marriage proposals I’ve received. Abso-fucking-lutely. But I didn’t. Wanna know why, thunder-thighs? Because I have self-respect. Boom.
both husbands and wives have this deeply-held thought: If my spouse is willing to make the effort to take care of herself/himself, it means they care about me – and if they aren’t willing to make that effort, it means they don’t really care about me.
Read as: I’m a douchebag.
Believe it or not, many men mentioned that even the willingness to go for a walk after dinner, or do her hair and makeup just for him – instead of just when they were going out with other people – made him feel cared for.
Bitches, let me tell you: If I catch you doing your make-up or getting in shape “just for him”, I’ll send you a slap-o-gram.
This is not to say you should not do these things. The make-up part I couldn’t care less about, but staying healthy, I believe is important. But do it for you, not your spouse.
See, the thing about me is that I loathe sweating.
But Godless Mom, you lived in Mexico! I know, honey. I really have no idea how I fucking did that. All I remember is two showers a day, a lot of air conditioning and an icy chelada in each hand.
Back to the point, though: I hate sweating. I fucking hate sweating more than just about anything on Earth. I hate feeling unclean. I’d rather go to church than feel unclean and sweaty. So, when Godless Mom needs to burn a few, she swims. There are times when I cannot, like now, being unable to afford a swim pass after Mexico-palooza in July. When I can’t swim, do I replace it with something else? Perhaps the gym? Maybe Wii Fit? Maybe the Underwood-esque rowing machine we have in our garage? Fuck no, I don’t. That shit’d make me sweat. You see?
That’s not to say I don’t sweat when I swim. I do. But, it’s not a sticky and unclean feeling because you’re in water. I push myself beyond what my body can handle most days, and am barely able to walk to my car afterwards. I swim for an hour a day, when I have a pass, and if I’m in the pool with some Phelpsy meathead, I try to lap the fucker… and sometimes I do.
The point here though, is that I, very obviously, swim for myself. I don’t do it for anyone or anything but me, because it makes me feel better than just about anything. That’s the part that Godless Dad loves about it. He thinks it’s attractive that I do that for me, and not him. In fact, I’d go so far as to say he would feel uncomfortable if I schlepped my way through a sweaty workout at the gym just to look good for him. He’d tell me to fucking quit that shit, because he knows how unhappy it makes me. Of course he wants me to be healthy, but he wants me to want to be healthy, he doesn’t want me to fucking do it under duress.
On the flipside, he never exercises. He’s not lazy… he’s always on his feet building shit in the garage (he made me some lighting for my videos last night!) and always on his feet at work, but he doesn’t exercise. If he suddenly began to hit the gym everyday, I would only be happy about it if it was what he wanted. I’m all for him being healthy, but if I felt, in any way, that he was doing it to please me, not only would I feel horrendously uncomfortable about it, but I’d make damned sure he understood he doesn’t need to do that for me and that I’d love him even if he ended up looking like Fat Bastard and singing about baby back ribs.
The effort to get and stay healthy – for both men and women – sends such an important message in your marriage. It says I care about you enough to do something that is uncomfortable for me, in order to take care of myself for you.
That’s not the message it sends to me, because I’m not a self-centred fucking asshole. The message it would send to me, if Godless Dad got up in the morning and went for a run, would be that Godless Dad wants to take care of himself, live longer and be there for a greater length of his childrens’ lives. I would see it fully and completely as something he was doing for himself, and that is the part that I would be attracted to. In the exact same way it’s attractive when he plays the drums, or writes a new song.
It is precisely because those things are not for me that I find them attractive.
It’s the same way the other way around – in fact, Godless Dad first told a friend of ours he liked me after reading some blog posts I’d written on Myspace (yes, I’m that old). When I do things for me, he doesn’t take it as a sign I care about him. He takes it as a sign I care about me… and someone who gives a shit about themselves, is sexy as fuck.
I guess that’s the difference between an atheist and a religious person. A religious person grows up sinning but devoting their guilt and shame for the sins to some magical cock jockey in the sky. An atheist grows up sin-free, and attributing their accomplishments to themselves. A Jeebot sees a devotional, guilt-ridden, repentant significant other as sexy, and an atheist sees a self-respecting, well-rounded, passionate person as sexy.
I’m fucking gladder than Pollyanna I fall into the second group, because if I had a husband who wanted me to do this shit for him, I’d probably be sharing Oprah’s couch with Lorena Bobbitt.
Comments