Imperfections — in things, in people, in places — add character to life. Tell us about an imperfection that you cherish.
He laughs loudly, from the belly, most of the time. That kind of laugh that is genuine and heartfelt, and his eyes light up and sparkle with it. He’s silly and makes jokes. He thrums and drums his fingers and hands on the table, the steering wheel. He gets heated on occasion (which is weird because he’s so very laid back and mello) about a bad day at work or when something else breaks around the house and will vent with the fierceness of a zealot on a crusade but then he calms down and makes sure that I know his tirade wasn’t at me but to me, that I just happen to be the one person he can talk to, vent to, and I listen knowing he just needs to vent and it’s not personal, but I am thankful that he remembers to take the time to tell me “Baby, you know I’m just venting…It’s not at you…”
He burps. Smacks when he chews (one of my pet peeves). Farts when he’s sleeping. And he throws his socks down wherever he takes them off, which is usually by his recliner, and they end up making a small mound on the carpet. But he’s OCD about his clothes in his dresser, or the tools in the toolbox, or the shed being organized. He cuts the grass like it’s a real job and he’s proud when he’s done, and it looks great…nice, neat straight lines on our freshly cut grass (I’m a zig-zagger so it amuses me).
And he’s got a bit of OCD about any meal that he prepares and if the slightest thing messes up the whole meal is “Ruined,” whereas I’m a make-do, adjust, throw together, kind of cook (he usually cooks one or two things at a time, and I cook everything at one time) but when either of us burns something or breaks something you hear “SHIT!” “DAMMIT!” He falls asleep in the recliner about 20 minutes after dinner
some most nights. He takes ridiculously long showers but it’s a stress reliever and me time and I don’t blame him, but I’m more of a long hot bubble bath kind of gal. He’s organized and neat, and I’m unorganized and creative. He’s laid back and I’m serious. I’ve learned to laugh at myself more often because of him. I’m less serious, less intense. I’m more hopeful now. He’s perfect to me, and he’d tell you I’m perfect to him. But I think it’s just that we’re perfect for eachother.
Many spend years, even decades, searching for that perfect person. The one. But for me it was about letting go of any preconceived notions I had about relationships and that perfect partner and just being happy with myself and in my life without anyone. That’s when I met Mr. Rockstar, and he was at the same place in his life. When I met him I knew I wanted to get to know him–he’d made me laugh and I could tell he had a genuine sense of humor, that he loved life, and was a sincere person. When he met me he knew I was a tell-it-like-it-is kind of person, that I was sincere, and loved life but was a serious kind of person. We truly bring out the best in each other, which to me is what love does when it’s real. My dad told me a long time ago that I needed someone who was laid back enough to put up with me, but strong enough to stand toe to toe with me–well I found that person in Mr. Rockstar. He is my better half. He encourages me, supports me, brings out the best in me, loves me without conditions, his love has liberated me–I feel more free being married to him than I ever felt single. I am free to be completely me and know that I am loved unconditionally. That is an amazing feeling.
Today’s post brought to you by the Daily Prompt: Imperfection
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