The other day my husband was in a bad mood (don’t ask me why – I think it was because hunting season is over and he had to put his bows and arrows away.) It made him crabby – so my son went around all day calling him “Mr. Grumpy”. And that made me laugh. My husband is rarely grumpy, so when he’s in a bad mood, everyone picks up on it. And because he has such a terrific sense of humor, we all feel comfortable teasing him about it. He’s been my husband for over twenty years now. We met in 1979 when I was 18, and somehow, I just knew I’d met the man I’d marry. He felt the same way – telling his friends even before we’d met – “Wow – did you see that girl?” I fell for his shy smile and mischievous eyes. He says he admired my intelligence and my ‘Cough – cough’ OK – you didn’t fall for that either? Well, I think it was my legs and ‘bosom’ as my great-gradmother would delicately put it. Well, it’s true that the physique is the first thing one notices about someone elses unless you’re blind, in which case it might be the voice or handshake. In my case, I thought he was too skinny but cute, not handsome but nice-looking, and he had these incredible twinkly eyes. He was playing polo when I saw him and the next weekend when I went back to watch a match – he was sitting on the sidelines with a huge cast. He’d shattered his elbow. I asked him how it was, and he told me (in very broken English) that it really “urt”, but it would be all right in a month or so. So I sat next to him (he made sure that chair was empty) and we talked. We couldn’t talk very much, because I spoke no French and his English was atrocious. He spoke Spanish fluently, but my Spanish was limited to “El Radio de Noche Puerto Rico!” the only station I could get in St. Thomas, where I’d grown up. So we sort of talked and he asked me on a dinner date. I took my sister with me on all our dates. He told me later he was desperate to ditch the chaperone, lol. Finally, after two months of dating, he invited me on a weekend to Deauville, where he’d started to play polo again. I took a friend with me, but this time he managed to ditch the chaperone…and we’ve been together ever since.
Why is he the perfect man for me? Because he’s patient, he’s funny, he’s fun to be around, and he’s got gorgeous eyes. He’s an eternal optimist – when our babies were born prematurely and the doctors said they only had a 25% chance to survive, he Never doubted they would be fine. He has faith. He’s not religious, but he has strong moral values. He’s not a finacial wizard, but he does his best. He’s had polo accidents and broken his arm, hand, hip, nose, and wrist – but he managed to become the best polo player in France, playing off an 8 handicap. He never cheated at the game, like so many others, or stooped to using the dirty tricks some players use. Even the best players admire him for his fair play. That’s part of being perfect. His reputation is pure gold, as is his heart. He can’t pass a stray dog on the street without stopping to pick him up, and he’s adopted lost kittens (even though he claims to hate cats) and even a wounded bunny…
He thinks the sun rises and sets on his wife and children, and we pretty much feel the same for him. So how can I not love him? He’s perfect.

Ann tagged me for this – so I’m going to be romantic and tag all you gals who have the ‘perfect’ man. Go for it!

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