Y'all, I'm stoked - got a new follower on Blogger sometime in the past few days. Why, if I add 3 times the number of followers I already have, I'll be into triple digits, so you just KNOW that each and every newbie is mucho appreciado in Amurka. Yes, even you. And you, in the back. There's no hiding at NAY, you know, and I can see you making those faces at me as I gush.
From time to time I enjoy a good squee as much as the next person. Today is one of those occasions.
So, everybody here knows, or should know, that I'm hitched up to a fabulous dood that I'm really nuts about. I thinks he's smart, handsome, funny, insightful, blah blah blah to the nth power. It might be that I'm just a little over-the-top in my appreciation of him, but I do really try to keep it on the down-low.
Except....well, I get really worked up and, uh, HUFFY, when I see photos of him playing out with his band and there's some hot chick pushed all up against him, partying with the rock star.
The rock star, who, lately, has taken to playing without his wedding ring on, because it was uncomfortable.
Bad enough when he's sportin' the symbol of lurve everlasting (and clear advertisement that he's TAKEN, which isn't as off putting to some admirers as you might hope it would be), even WORSE when he's not and the telltale tan line makes it look like he's had a recent change of marital heart. "Why, hello, recently separated man - you must be looking for some hot nookie, and I'm your cookie!" say the ladies (I know they do, because he's totally adorable and likes to wander the crowd now that he's all wireless and shizznit, which of course bring him in DIRECT CONTACT with all manner of groupies who might like nothing more than to paw all over a totally adorable and very manly man.)
The photos from this weekend's gig were no exception. Tall blonde with a black little minidress, great legs, and high heels was all over him, him with no ring on, and I Do Not Care For It One Bit.
(That was the sound of my 'cool' shattering under some white-hot jealousy.)
Yes - it's part of the game. Yes, there will always be groupies and tipsy ladies who just want a piece of the high life, but dang - that shit just rips me up.
I should be secure enough to not care. I really should. I really really ought to not care and be HAPPY that the girls thinks he's worthy of their attention, because obviously I think he is and so why should it matter that someone else is attracted to him? Clearly I made the right choice in men, because he is so popular. I should be happy!
And yet....it totally grates my cheese.
I believe this speaks to my insecurities, the pervasive feeling of a certain lack of self-worth and/or value that I've toted around with me for far too long. It would be lovely to be so STUFFED with self-esteem that I could do nothing but beam with joy whenever I see photos in which there are some other woman's arms wrapped around him.
So, I'm working on that. The beaming. It looks way more like clenched teeth right now, and has been known to frighten the more sensitive souls among us, so there's much room for improvement.
And, to ensure my journey toward a possible personal Utopia isn't sidetracked by an easily-fixed oversight, I did the only sensible thing and bought him another wedding ring this weekend. Oh yes I did. My self-actualization requires a little bit of emotional insurance, which now comes in a thin titanium band variety that he declares to be 'much more comfortable.'
Hey - it was that or I was going to spring for him to get a tattoo. Of my initials. On his ring finger. Mwuahahahahaaaa!!!
(To his credit - we went shopping together, sort of spur of the moment. It was really romantic. Me in my torn-up 'oh I thought we were only going to Home Depot' clothes and unwashed hair, him looking slightly more dapper in duds that actually buttoned, and the skinny/cute/young salesgirl probably wondering what the heck he sees in me. Not my finest moment, by a looong shot. It was so very bad, actually, that I was really rooting for us to go back to the mall yesterday after church to get his first wedding ring polished up, because by then I had on good clothes and makeup and smelled washed. This trip, sadly, did not happen. Which is why my life is exactly the opposite of a Thomas Kinkade painting.)
For those of you who know me in real life and who may have found the above gut-spill a surprise - SURPRISE!!!
Everyone has their demons. I have just introduced you to one of my flock. Maybe some other day, when I'm feel equally emotionally vulnerable, I'll let another one have a bit of a fly-over. They're really quite fascinating...
Don't tell me YOU don't have any. Let's not forget - there aren't enough of you who hang around here to become invisible. Dish out a good comment and open up your dark corners to a little interwebly sunlight! It's cathartic! And would make me so much better about my bevy of neuroses.
Then have a fabulous day.