Last night I was standing in the mirror, subconsciously looking for flaws (you know how it is, ladies). My husband was lying on the bed watching the Travel Channel in what he thought was going to be in relative peace.
“Baaaaaaaaaaaabe!” I screeched.
“Do you think my boobs are little?”
I AM 10 months pregnant and my DDs barely fit anymore…so I supposed he was telling the truth. I scanned the mirror.
“Babe? Do you think I look fat or pregnant?”
“I think you look pregnant.”
“But my belly doesn’t look round! It looks all misshapen and jiggly at the bottom.”
I think I heard his eyes roll. He reassured me that my belly was round.
“Baaaaabe?!?! Do you think I’m pretty? Even though I have gray lips and bags under my eyes?”
“Your lips aren’t gray. They’re pink…and I don’t see any bags under your eyes.”
I could tell he was trying to be patient, like talking to a 5 year old. I kept scouring over my image in the mirror until finally I caught it: My nails.
“Babe! Look at my nails! They’re awful. I have to do something.”
He readily agreed. They looked like claws. The paint was chipping off. It looked like I had “black French tips”. He mentioned all of the above and went back to watching TV, assuming I would be dashing off to the nail salon the next day. Unfortunately, that was out of the question. I had lost the gift certificate that my friend had given me to get my nails done, and I’m far too frugal to spend my discretionary money on something that someone else had paid for. I didn’t have time to wait for the certificate to turn up. My nails had to be done NOW. I sat down and began to rub off the chipped 6 month old polish. After choosing what color I wanted my cuticles to be converted to, I bent down to paint my toes and was denied access. My stomach was way too big.
“Babe? Can you paint my toe nails for me please?”
His answer was swift and final.
No? No?? “No” was a word reserved for our children. If either of us didn’t want to do something for the other, the appropriate was response was “Not tonight; I have a headache”, or “Gimme a sec, and I’ll get to it soon/later”; not straight up “no”!
“What do you mean ‘no’?” I asked. “I thought you said you would do anything for me!”
“When did I say that?” he challenged.
“When we were dating and when we first got married! You said you would ‘do anything for me as long as it doesn’t cause you to sin against God'”.
He turned his attention back to the TV.
“Babe? Don’t you want me to look pretty for when the baby comes?”
“Look woman. I’ve done a lot for you. I’ve carried your purse while you were in the changing room. I’ve bought you maxi pads when you couldn’t or didn’t want to go out and get them yourself. I’ve even scratched your butt when you couldn’t reach it. But I’m. Not. Painting. Your. Nails.”
So 10 minutes later, after he was done painting my nails, I inspected his work.
“I could have done a better job myself,” I sniffed. “Look how bumpy the finish is!”
I caught him staring at me, like a raccoon about to be struck by minivan.
“What? Lets see what Dhani’s doing tonight on the Travel Channel.”
I love my man.