This one guy I know . . .

When I was twenty, I decided I would probably not get married. 

It wasn't that I don't like guys, I just didn't see most guys as marriage and commitment material. While some of my gal friends would be ogling at the eye candy, I was seeing Mr. Unreliable under that six-pack and chiseled jaw. 

Perhaps some of it had to do with nursing school, and knowing that even the best bodies succumb to the wisdom advice of wrinkles; the strongest arms decide that it's better to be able to wave the bat-wings at one's best friend instead of hefting weights until those biceps are shiny. 

Besides. 

I'm not the easiest person to live with. You can ask my sister, whom I shared a room with for most of my growing up; or my cousin, whom I challenged for the alpha-bitch status every time our parents got together to try to have an adult conversation. (I can say that because she is now one of the three people who I tell my secrets to.)

Or you can ask this one guy I know.

The truth is, he makes my world go 'round.

He cooks almost every night, and usually ends up cleaning up, too. He makes sure the house is clean when we have guests coming over. He makes sure we all have clean underpants when I get lazy. He is starting to get gray at the temples, which is distinguished-looking, and he looks best when his hair is all mussed first thing in the morning--especially if he is holding one of the kids.

There are only about three things he can't do:

1. Sing

Just trust me.

2. Drive slowly

to anywhere in town. He does ok on the open road.

 

3. Be diplomatic

He will tell it like it is. Especially if you are being an idiot.

Other than that, he can literally do anything. He's better at changing diapers, getting a crying baby to sleep, cooking, making excellent adult beverages, gardening, decorating, yard work, fixing things, putting Transformers back together--just to name a few--than I will ever be.

Mom once told me, "Lisa, when you find Mr. Right, you'll be engaged long enough to order the flowers. Maybe."

She knows me well. 

When Clay and I met, I told him I wasn't interested and, while I was happy to comply with being a climbing partner, dating was O-U-T. Once I finally conceded that maybe I kinda sorta could be persuaded to be a little bit interested, we dated for three whole months.

Then I asked him (Yes. I asked him. You read correctly.) to marry me, and the rest is history. 

I love this guy.