My husband is an amazing guy. He’s kind, engaging, patient, super smart and good at just about everything. He’s also way funnier than I am and a good writer. It’s slightly irritating.
Oh, and he looks like Jerry Seinfeld.
I know, about ten of you who have met him in real life just did a face palm and said “Holy crap, he totally does look like Jerry Seinfeld.”
We met at a engineering firm where I was an assistant to the president and he was a structural engineer. That’s what I mean about being super smart. The guy was in charge of making sure buildings don’t fall down. And you should feel completely safe about walking in those buildings because unlike me, he has an attention span of more than 3.2 seconds. When he walked into the office on his first day of work, I looked at the receptionist and did the whole raised eyebrow thing with a double finger gun and mouth click. It would be nice to have a little eye candy around the office.
We were both in relationships at the time but we became fast friends through email. The email exchange starting because he wanted to apologize for a completely inappropriate remark he made that I found hysterically funny but left him worrying I would sue for sexual harassment. There are now two things you should know:
1) Email was relatively new back then, I worked there for a year before we even had email. THAT’S how old I am.
2) Currently my husband is reading this trying to remember what the inappropriate comment was.
Since it was an office full of guys, they used to do sporty stuff after work like play soccer and since I was unhappy in my relationship at the time and didn’t want to go home, I would watch. One day my relegated-to-the-friend-zone-not-yet-husband was on the ‘shirts off’ team.
He was immediately taken out of the friend zone. When he took off that shirt, I just about died. DIED. It would be the beginning of a beautiful relationship. I mean, as soon as he dumped his girlfriend.
This is something else you should know about my husband. He’s hot. And back then he worked out like the dickens and at one point he couldn’t touch his fingers to his shoulder because his biceps were so big. Seriously, hot.
He’s also played hockey since he was a kid and was good, like, really good. Good enough that he could have gone somewhere with it which is a whole other story but I’m glad he didn’t because hockey players usually have wives who are tall, blonde and supermodel-ly and I am short, brunette and cute, at best.
It was weird when we first started dating because he would be all “Hey, I’m going to the gym to workout, do you want to come?” and I was all “No thanks, I’m going to stay home, eat six Big Macs and make myself throw up.” Only, not really, because he didn’t know about that yet. It would be a surprise! Like me jumping out of a cake on his birthday! Only I’d then eat the cake with a box of laxatives and lock myself in the bathroom for six hours.
At one point I started to work out with him but the combination of lifting weights and my eating disorder made my heart think it was a toddler going to town on a set of pots with a wooden spoon–no rhythm–which led to me seeing cardiologists and wearing holter monitors while they tried to figure out how I was still walking around when I was having 800 irregular heart beats an hour.
The point of all of this is that he was super athletic and I was not, at all.
Suffice it say, you might now be able to understand why it brings me great delight that since he attended his first dryland training on Wednesday he is ridiculously sore and I’m not.