Last night, when I got home from Urgent Care, I was changing my clothes (back to pjs, hurrah, the day might end) and I looked in the mirror.
I didn't really care, not much, but Nolan, bless his heart, has some really foul breath right now (normal) and he'd been breathing it on me as I cradled him (no pillow) on the hard exam table. I felt like I might look like his breath, so to speak, as crazy as that seems.
I was about to take out my ponytail when I saw it. Or I should say, them. Winking, more than I've noticed in a while.
I lamented to Mr W. I was amazed that he was so unsympathetic. "Why do they bother you so much?" he asked. "Why don't they bother you?" I asked him.
"It's not a big deal to me." I bit back "Because you don't have any hair" and instead asked, "Why not?"
"We're getting older. We get gray hair. Big deal."
"Hmphf," I huffed at him. "Gray hair. Once you get 'em, that just lessens your chances of ever being the hot girl," I moaned. (The elusive title. Why does it matter?)
I'd be more offended at him had he not had this conversation with me earlier in the week...
I had on a relatively new top. And I pointed out to him that he had not commented on it, I was being a little flirty and obnoxious, and I said to him, "You haven't noticed. Aren't I cute?" as I did the Vanna up-down-look-at-this hand motion with a pause at boob level, of course. He rolled his eyes, and sighed the sigh of a man, a husband who knows.
"You look good, hon. You always do." He says it with such sincerity, I start to giggle. "Doesn't she, boys?" he looks over at Ben and Ryan, and they chime in "Yeah, Mom, you always look nice," as Mr W goes on, "Even first thing when she gets up in the morning,she looks good, right, boys?" he turns back to me.
"Why are you blushing, Anna?" he points out. I giggle some more.
"Thanks, just....thanks." I continue to feel my face get hotter, and I can't have him look at me anymore, I walk into the kitchen, giggling, shaking my head.
Not what I expected. It sounds cheesy, but he really was sincere. To spoil it with the usual "you're full of shit" song-and-dance would cheapen the moment and not make it likely that he would compliment me ever again.
I guess now that I think about it, if he is cool with what I look like early in the morning, then a few gray hairs are probably not going to dampen his enthusiasm, any more than the lack of hair on his part would dampen mine.
And that's hot.