Why My Husband is the Best Husband Ever, Y’all

This is my husband

Alex, right before he joined the military and got insanely hotter

Alex, right before he joined the military and got insanely hotter

He is a very tall man, standing at around 6’7.  His eyes are insanely blue, and as you can tell, he’s devilishly handsome.

I’ll be totally honest, I do not deserve this man.  He’s fantastic, but let me tell you what brought on this strange blog post.

I have many friends who shall remain nameless who post stuff on Facebook all the time talking about how they have the best husband in the world.  I always smile when I see these things, because it shows that chivalry isn’t dead and that these couples appear to really love each other.

Here are a few examples of my why friends husbands are the “best husbands alive.”

“Hubby called me from the flight line today to say hi and that he missed me, best hubby ever!”

“Hubby came into my work today with flowers just because he thought I’d like them, best hubby ever!”

“Hubby made dinner.  I know it was only take and bake pizza and he burnt it, but he tried, so he’s the best hubby ever!”

“Came home to the hubby having done the dishes!  Yes, he did a terrible job but it’s the thought that counts!  Best hubby ever!”

Now, I see these and I smile, because I think it’s very cute.  But I also know that I totally have the best hubby ever, and here’s why.


1.  He doesn’t kill my hair with fire.

I have insanely bushy, thick, uncontrollable hair.  The devil himself decided to punish me by giving me hair that he deemed more uncontrollable than a war mongering a-hole.


Me, just after waking up.

Me, just after waking up.

This is what he wakes up to every morning.  First time he saw it he tried not to scream, and when he tried to run his fingers in my hair, we almost had to cut my hair around his fingers because my hair is so ungodly thick.  Hair straighteners tremble with fear at the thought of my hair, and no matter how I get my hair cut, no matter what products I use in my hair, no matter how long or short it is, it just refuses to work with me.*

2. He cleans the house… To military standards

Let me tell you a story.

When I was living on my own, you could not see the floor of where I was living.  My roommates called my bedroom “the pit” because you could get lost from all the crap in my room.  I had two patches of floor you could see and it took a lot of jumping and maneuvering to get from the door to the bed.

Alex, however, is a neat freak, and I mean this in the nicest possible way.  No bedspread would dare wrinkle under Alex’s watch.  When we were first dating, I would go to his dorm room and be afraid to touch anything from how clean and orderly it was.  He cleaned the kitchen floor with a toothbrush for crying out loud.  Everything had a set, exact spot.  The bedspread looked like it was ironed on his bed.  His clothes were organized by color, sleeve length and formality.  I wish I were kidding about this, but I’m not.

So when we got married, he was excited because his thoughts were along the lines of, “Yay!  I’ll have help cleaning!”

My thoughts were, “Yay!  I’m never going to have to clean again or live in filth again!”

As you can imagine, this is really the only thing we ever fight about.

When he cleans, you can eat off the floors. He does dishes so well that they sparkle.  He even sorts the laundry and gets stains out.

This man is a God.


3.  He’s hilarious

IF you haven’t seen my Christmas card that we sent out this year, go read this right now.  What was even better about that instance, it was partially his idea and when I said, I would love to do it, he said “HELLS YES WE’RE DOING THIS!”

And so we did.



In addition he helps me embarrass family members when they visit or when we visit them.  We got our mom to run away from us in Target*

4.  He doesn’t try to stab me with a rusty spoon for messing up the kitchen.

I know I mentioned cleaning and how I’m a slob and how he’s a neat freak, but it is impossible for me to keep the kitchen clean. I try, I really do, but I just can’t do it.  I even worked in a kitchen and all of my coworkers told me that I was the messiest possible cook they ever worked with.

All I made was a bowl of cereal...

All I made was a bowl of cereal…

This is my kitchen.  This picture isn’t even staged (except the chair, I put the chair there on purpose).  When he saw me taking this picture, he got pretty mad.  Something along the lines of “WHY ARE YOU SHOWING THIS TO PEOPLE?!”

I dunno, I wasn’t really listening.

5.  He cooks… better than me

When I first got married I gained over 30 pounds in three months.  Now, everyone says that this is your “happy weight” from when you first get married, but I blame his cooking ability.

You see, he’s a culinary school grad.  He’s a mother fucking chef.  For Christmas he’s cooking a Christmas Goose.  Goose.  Who the hell makes goose?  This guy does.

6.  He’s weird.

I know this is a weird reason, but hear me out.  I’m borderline crazy with how weird I am.  I moved to Fairbanks, AK, willingly.  And I stayed up there after two years of college.  I decided I’d rather have dogs than kids because I like dogs better.  I have no filter when I talk.  I’m educated and I’ll still take the cheap whiskey over a fine wine.  When I shop, even when I could afford it, I went straight for the clearance rack at Walmart and I have shoes where the soles are literally falling off and broken, but since they’re comfortable I still wear them.  I wear mens clothes half the time because they’re comfortable, I curse like a sailor, and I’ll go grocery shopping in a parka, slippers and basketball shorts.

I’m very weird.

And he’s weirder.

He’s awkward, which is what I love about him.  He’s a dungeon master, a nerd through and through.  He likes anime, talks in movie quotes, owns 30+ board games, and always challenges me to be weird in every aspect of my life.

And he doesn’t care that I’m weird, because he still loves me.

Thanks Alex, for being the best husband ever.  Here’s to three years together!

Like what you read?  Follow me on facebook!  I’ll be posting strange news and blog updates there!

*I don’t give my hair enough credit.  I know how to kind of put my hair in a pony tail and I forget to brush it half the time, but even when I do my hair is like NOPE YOU SHALL DIE!

* I’m giving my mom far too much credit, she always ditches us in the store.  However, the last time she did it, Alex and I decided to run up and down the aisles while screaming “MOOOOOOOOOM!  MOOOOOOOOOM!” in a very nasal voice, to which she magically appeared behind us, hissing, “What?  Shut up!” It was awesome.  She doesn’t ditch us anymore.

How a Murderous Cockroach Turned Me Into A Good Housekeeper

So when I first moved to Louisiana, my house lacked all forms of furniture.  At our house for the first few weeks, we had a full size mattress on the floor, a broom, a floor shark mop thing, and a dining room table we got at an AWESOME consignment store in Shreveport.  So, to say the least, we didn’t have anything.  Along with this, my husband was given two weeks after we got here to figure his stuff out, I didn’t start work until three weeks after getting here, so we spent a lot of time just sitting around our house, not having anything really to do.

This is bad when you’re getting familiar with a new area.

Not only do you learn a lot of new things about your spouse because you’ve never had this much time with him, but also, you get to see all the creepy little things in your house.

Please keep in mind, I am from Minnesota originally and spent my entire adult life in Alaska where there are no types of bugs except mosquitos and silverfish, all of which are harmless.  I had heard that the south had cockroaches, but I thought cockroaches were only about a quarter of an inch long.  Oh, how wrong I was.

One day, when I was bored out of my mind, I decided to sweep up all the dog fur that my dogs felt they needed to shed once getting to 100+ degree weather, when I sweep under my kitchen sink and I am greeted by a giant (two inch long) cockroach.

I couldn't find a picture to justify the cockroach, so thank you Hyperbole and a half for giving me the idea of using MS Paint

I couldn’t find a picture to justify the cockroach, so thank you Hyperbole and a half for giving me the idea of using MS Paint

When I swept it out from under the sink, it hissed at me.  Then it skittered around a little bit and stopped moving…. But I could hear that fucker breathing.

Being a naïve northern girl, I did not see it like this.

I had my ass on the kitchen door, counters on either side of me, so when I swept this cockroach from under the kitchen sink, I was cornered with nowhere to go since I didn’t have enough room to open the kitchen door to go around the house and go inside via the front door.  I was barefoot so I couldn’t squash the damn thing, and since I’m a fat girl, I can’t jump over it.

So I did the most logical thing that came to mind.

I screamed.

I kept screaming.

I seriously did not stop screaming.  Oh, and I started crying too because I HATE roaches.  My husband, the poor man, was in the middle of a very peaceful nap.  When he heard my screaming and crying, he thought I was being attacked, so he quickly rushed out onto the tile, sliding the entire way, seeing me crying and screaming in the kitchen, while he was still in his underwear.

“What’s wrong?!” he yelled, looking around for a rapist*

Being too struck with fear to even speak, I shakily pointed at the roach on the floor.

He gives me a very disconcerting look.  One eyebrow raised, the other lowered, dropping the rigidness of his posture.  “Are you fucking serious right now?”

I shook my head vigorously, unable to say another word, afraid that the hissing monster was going to eat me or worse.

I don't think the roach was actually holding a knife, but who knows, better not chance it

I don’t think the roach was actually holding a knife, but who knows, better not chance it

He went over into the living room, grabbed my shoe, came back into the kitchen and killed it.  He then grabbed a paper towel and picked it up, to which I ran out of the kitchen crying, finding comfort in my down comforter.  Because nothing is more comforting than a comforter.

My husband takes care of the cockroach, then approaches me in the bedroom.

“Your knight in shining armor has slain the dragon… and all you do is run away crying.  Fucking seriously?  No thanks?  No ‘I love you’ and ‘You’re my hero?’”

I’m pretty sure it was a trap, so I didn’t answer.

So that, my friends, is how a cockroach has caused me to become an excellent house keeper.

Has anyone ever been cornered by a cockroach before?


*Note: My husband always teases me that I’m afraid some rapist is going to come into the house.  While I’m pretty sure this won’t happen, I am a little paranoid.  So when I screamed, he thought someone had broken into the house so he was all STAND BACK! I SHALL PROTECT YOU!  When it was really only a roach…