How many of you know a great person? I bet more of you than realize. It’s human nature not to.
I hate that phrase. Let’s try something else.
It’s expectantly normal for people to take for granted that which is closest to them. If we do with our very own bodies, isn’t it understandable that we would do it with our loved ones? Of course. The trick, or should I say, the surprisingly abnormal thing to do is remind ourselves how important those around us actually are.
I know a great person. He’s not an artist. He’s not a politician (there aren’t any great politicians). He’s not famous. In fact, he is not even a he. He’s a she. The greatest person I know is my wife.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “Oh, Gary. How cliche´! What’s next? Are you going to tell us the greatest moment in your life was when your children were born?“
I’ll get to that soon enough.
I’m serious and I’m not trying to be obvious, though there are obvious reasons for her being the greatest person I know. I’ve reflected on this for quite some time, thinking of ways to express it, and finally deciding to put it to writing for the whole world to read.
Here are the reasons why my wife is the greatest person I know:
- Let’s start with the obvious, shall we? She married me. I understand perfectly how monumental this decision was on her behalf. It was no small decision of my own, but her’s… Well, let’s face it. I’m not the easiest person to live with. Somewhere, deep inside her, she mustered enough trust to say yes and to eventually walk down the aisle. She had no idea what was going to happen. All she knew was that some skinny kid who couldn’t keep his hands off her decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Apparently, that was enough. Whether it was smart… Well, only time will tell, I guess.
- The second most obvious reason is that she has sex with me. That’s a deal breaker if you’re running in my greatest person marathon, which automatically disqualifies just about everybody I know. If you’re not willing to have sex with me, then forget it. Sorry, folks. To have sex with me can only mean that you are a great person. I mean, I love myself, but I don’t want to see myself naked. There’s a lot going on that shouldn’t be going on and not enough going on that should. Only a person of certain greatness and suspension of belief would be willing to get down and dirty with me. I’m not an idiot.
- Having sex with me leads to the third reason: she gave me two wonderful children. This is where you’re rolling your eyes, I know. Yeah, yeah, Gary. The greatest moments in your life. No! That’s not why she’s great. We’ll chalk up the first child as naivety. She had no idea what was involved with carrying a child, delivering a child, then raising a child. No idea! I didn’t either, but I only had to worry about the raising part. Let’s talk about that whole carrying and delivering part and you’ll understand why giving me two, that’s TWO, wonderful children is a good reason for said greatness.
Women usually gain, I don’t know, 900 lbs. when pregnant, give or take a hundred. They become beastly figures desperately trying to look cute in clothing that are really variants of muumuus. Their bodies stretch and disfigure, never to return to that youthful sheen again. Their emotions run the gamut. They are hot then cold then hot then both at the same time. Everything tastes good and disgusting. The mention of a smell makes them vomit. It’s a nine month flu, an alien invasion, a giant leach sucking the life from their bodies as it grows strong enough to eventually burst from the womb and destroy wonderful and happy lives of two young and loving people that have fun, and friends, and like to take trips, or stay out all night.
Did I say my kids are wonderful?
So, yeah, let’s discuss that bursting moment. It’s rarely a moment. It’s sometimes hours, if not days of back breaking, hip cracking, vein popping agony. There should be a congressional hearing and husbands should stand trial for inhumane torture. “But, your honor! I was only trying to get her to talk dirty!” “Inexcusable! Eighteen years of hard labor!”
Women bounce on big rubber balls, eat ice chips, squeeze hands of dopey men looking down at them saying, “You’re doing a good job, hon.” Thanks, you walking bag of devil semen. Get me some more ice chips!
When the moment comes, giant six pounds of flesh force through their tiny vaginas. The women scream. The babies scream. The husbands faint after doing absolutely nothing. The doctors act like everything is normal while calmly handing off a giant, greased up, naked squirrel that won’t stop squirming. It’s apocalyptic.
So, that’s what having a baby is all about. My wife did that twice. Like I said, chalk the first up as being naive, but with a second child, she’s like Audie Murphy jumping on a burning tank and manning the machine gun after taking out a hill full of German foxholes single-handedly. It’s just something a sane or lesser person wouldn’t do.
- My wife is a selective nag. Some of you are thinking that’s a bad thing. Who wants to hang out with a nag? No one. Not even me. But she’s selective. That’s the key.
We all get into these lazy ruts and ruts are sometimes fun. They are life’s little breaks in a world that’s constantly go-go-go. However, if there isn’t someone around to sound the alarm, a rut can turn into a habit, a bad habit. My wife doesn’t let that happen. Whether it’s professionally or domestically, she’s on top of it, reminding me what needs to be done. She tells it like it is and I love it.
- She’s a hard worker. She does every job well and to the best of her abilities. She makes herself valuable to those around her and to those for whom she works. In a world where good work ethics are like the Lost City of Gold, she’s a jewel.
- My wife supports my crazy ideas knowing full well how crazy they are. In a nutshell, she believes in me and if she doesn’t, she hides it well. I guess it’s not important if she believes in me or not. What is important is that I believe that she believes in me. Hell, I don’t know why anybody would. That is, until I’m so deep in my work and I quietly tell myself that she’s right. I am a genius. But that’s fleeting. In the next breath, I’m banging my head against the wall, announcing my stupidity. I’m allowed moments of schizophrenic behavior, though. Just as long as I don’t take it out into the streets. That’s an actual rule in my house. No crazy stuff in the streets. Keep it in the four walls. Although, the older I get the less that rule is enforced.
- She’s a beautiful person, physically and emotionally. She lights up a room with her presence and everybody wants to talk to her. She argues with me with her heart while I do with my mind. Though I may win the battle with logic, she wins the war with her love.
- I don’t know what I would do without her and I can’t imagine my life without her.
There are many more reasons, small things that only I notice and care about. I could list them all, enough to fill a book. However, this is a blog and your lunch time at work is just about over, and the boss is heading your way. So, I’ll leave you with this thought:
Take a close look at the greatest person you know. He or she is standing next to you most of the time. You’re welcome.
Thanks for reading.