Does this blog make my ass look fat?

I’ve become a blog stalker. Moving from blog to blog, laughing, crying, WTF’ing and sharing the really funny ones with my husband, who has the funny bone of an 80 year old. After reading a particularly funny blog I say to my husband:



Me: This shit is ridiculously funny, don’t you think? (I may have said “ridonkulous” but for all intents and purposes we will pretend I said something less douche-like)

Tim: Yeah, that was a good time (only he didn’t say it quite so cool, but no one wants to be admit their spouse still says things like “rad” or “awesome”)

Me: It makes me rethink the direction of my blog because I want it to be something someone wants to read as much as I want to read these other blogs.

Tim: Your blogs are good. People will read them. (thanks for the enthusiam)

Me: So, you are saying if you were sitting reading my blog and this “Madame X” blog, you would go back and read mine instead of hers tomorrow.

Tim: ……..

Me: ahem, Tim?

Tim: I would read your blog honey.

Translation: I am going to say whatever you want to hear because I really enjoy seeing you naked and I would hate to never touch your boobs again. Isn’t false truths and superficial lies really what marriage is all about anyway? Being the go to person for your spouse when they need an ego boost, or being the person to tell your wife her ass doesn’t look fat in those jeans, or for you to say “of course it’s the biggest I have ever had”. They should switch the wedding vows from “to love, honor and obey” to “to put up with, tell you shut the hell up with love in my eyes, and lie to make you feel better about yourself”. Maybe more marriages would last longer. If I could rewrite my vows now that reality, and the 15 extra after the wedding dress comes off pounds, have set in they would read as such:

"I vow to restrain from punching you in the head when you make a stupid comment about my love for reality TV shows and my ability to score the hot, 20-something year olds on them. I vow to clean the house when I am damn good and ready, wash your skid marked underwear twice a week and occasionally get naked and put out without asking. I promise to laugh at your jokes when you are feeling down, tell you that you are the best I ever had, pretend not to notice when you “readjust” yourself in public and stick up for you even when I know your wrong (so I can hold it over your head later, but still)."

At the end of the day, isn’t this really what love is all about?