I Wear the Sweatpants in this Relationship
Last night, while moaning softly in a loose fetal position, I solidified my role in my marriage. We had just gotten home from a lovely date, and I had eaten so much food that I couldn’t sit upright. I was sure I was dying; my husband couldn’t stop laughing at me.
It has become clear that I wear the sweatpants in this relationship.
When I have a rough day, I have a physical need to shed the clothes I wore all day and don my sweatpants.
And when my husband has a bad day, I bring home piles of his comfort foods … and eat at least half of them for him.
These proclivities are getting worse and now extend beyond the privacy of our home. Increasingly, I find myself opting for a baggy t-shirt instead of one of my many cute workout tops. Nobody can see how many sit-ups I haven’t done if I wear a burlap sack on my run.
On the other hand, when my husband changes in to cycling clothes after work, more often than not he leaves his dress socks on. It’s adorable.
I don’t own dress socks. Nice things, even dress clothes for my toes, don’t fare well around me. The only food I don’t eat is the food I spill down my front. Or in my lap. Or on the new couch …
And that stained couch, in those baggy pants, is where I usually hide from workouts. I cheer my husband on as he bundles up for a cold bike ride whilst whispering into my candy bar: “I’ll go tomorrow. Tomorrow will be warmer.” But tomorrow is never warmer. And because I can’t get out of my couchpants today, I’ll have to wear them on my bike ride to prevent frostbite tomorrow.
But on this day, on this couch, in these sweatpants, I’ll embrace my calling. I wear the sweatpants in this relationship.
I can’t believe you read all the way to the end! I’d like to thank you for reading and invite you to recommend anything you like, follow this blog, and send bacon sponsor leads (or just packages of bacon) my way.
