poor me wah wah wah.

I don't know how it happened, but I seriously hit the jackpot in 2004 when I met my husband.  Before you sigh and move on to another less-fulfilling blog about Valentines Day, hear me out.

I am not writing this to make anyone jealous.  I'm no "nyeah nyeah my husband makes me pancakes on saturdays and wakes up in the middle of the night to feed the baby" kind of gal.  I mean- all of that is true, but I certainly won't be rubbing it in your face again after just now.

Instead I thought I might make a list of all the reasons you are happy my husband is not your husband.  

Starting with: 

He knows everything about computers.   Like. He invented them or something.  Which you're thinking is a good thing.  But if you've heard the sigh I draw out of him when I ask him to help me convert a file to jpg format or expand some zipped crap, you may think I was asking him to show me how to blink.  Or breathe.  And the eye-roll that accompanies the sigh makes the bitches from The Hills jealous. {that's still a show, right?} 

Another thing that really makes him special annoying is the pancake making thing.  What's with it?  The pancakes are always delicious.  It's totally maddening. He even has the gall to put chocolate chips in them sometimes.  WTF? Like I couldn't make pancakes?  Like I wouldn't WANT to make pancakes? Well I do. Maybe. Not really, but if I did they would suck compared to his and this is another reason you really would hate having him as your husband. Sometimes people really just want toaster waffles or Target brand oat cluster cereal. 

If it was YOU that married him instead of ME, you'd never be able to cook dinner without having your ass grabbed/smacked/pinched/rubbed and you'd be pummeled with text messages about poop sent during his "important meetings" in the middle of the day.  

If he was your husband, you'd have a pink glow-in-the-dark basket ball hoop on the back of your bedroom door, a collection of star wars lego figurines that keep falling over every time you snoop through the stuff on his dresser for spare quarters,  and pancakes every Saturday morning. {i know i said the pancakes thing already, but it really pisses me off} 

And finally... 

Your husband certainly doesn't make this face:

 

 Not ever, right? Yeah. 

So before you start bitching about how you didn't even get a card or some lame-o teddy bear holding a box of chocolates for Valentines Day, remember that you could seriously have it much worse. 

You could be married to the most know-it-ally, pancake making, lego owning, heavy sighing, weirdo face making, poop-texting man that walks the earth. And then you'd be writing this post instead of me. And I'd be reading it thinking, 

I wish that was me. 

Poor thing.