Opposites Really Do Attract

Every once in awhile, I remember that Hubs and I don't have all that much in common.

I'm sure you're shocked, but let me explain.

(Actually, if you've been reading this blog AT ALL, you're probably not even a little bit shocked. Hubs isn't big on pink. Or wearing pajamas until the 5:00 news comes on. That's 5pm not am. Just sayin.)

Here are the basics:

We are both white (Yup, I bagged a white guy!) We were both born and raised in Texas (minus a brief stint in OK for me.) We both love going out for dinner and we both think I am fabulous.

The similarities, which might seem substantial on paper, end there.

Hubs is an electrician. I've said before that I believe he has electricity coursing through his veins. His passions are all things lighting and neon and anything else that requires electricity. Seriously, he has changed out every bulb in our house to daybright white... even above the mirrror in my bathroom! Do I like that? Not so much.

Champagne gives him heartburn, while I could gulp an entire bottle and sleep like a baby. He likes to exercize. No, really, he enjoys it! He owns every tool that is sold at Home Depot and he loves being outdoors and puttering around in the garage. (Seriously. He does all sorts of weird stuff in that garage. Welding, random construction, home improvement projects, car repairs. I never know what to expect when I occasionally venture out there.)

He is not a reader, unless its a manual of some sort and he will read those directions from cover to cover. He likes rock, metal, and the occassional gangster rap. He mainly watches the Discovery Channel. He does not like sports unless his home team is winning, then he might just get some super bowl fever. It's hard for him to sleep in past 9 am. He knows a little bit about everything. He has a strong back and big hands. If it's fixable, he will fix it. He is happiest in board shorts and flip flops.

And me? Well...I'm an indoor girl.

(No one is surprised.)

I'm a voracious reader, easily reading a couple books a week. I like bars that have pricey appetizers and require you to put on a little mascara and heels. I watch a ridiculous amount of TV. I like to stay up till 3 am and then sleep until noon. I don't understand why people like to get dirty. It takes me 3 hours to get ready to go to a small gathering with friends.

I can quote Shakespeare and knit you a scarf (but don't ask me too, cause I have way too much internet surfing to do.) I love sitting by the lake or riding shotgun in a boat, but never under any circumstances will I touch a fish. Or bait. Nope. Not gonna happen. My favorite shoes have a three inch heel. I spend a ridiculous amount of time on my hair and what necklace goes with which purse. I consider fashion magazines and gossip blogs "research". I enjoy literary and pop culture references. I hate to clean and I can't cook at all. I love cheesy pop rock (think Britney.)
I love any movies or books with a gay man as the lead character.

I've had relationships before where the amount of common ground was much greater.

(I mean, you know, my old boyfriends didn't wear STILETTOS, but at least we had punk rock, pop culture, literature, and insomnia to bind us.)

(Oh, and rebellion. Let's not forget that.)

Obviously, those relationships didn't work out so well.

We do not have an abundance of similar tastes. We are hot-tempered and easily provoked and occasionally unforgiving.

(I guess we have more in common than previously stated.)

I think, as you get older, that shared interests in trivial things take a backseat to having the same vision for your future. We embrace our differences. We want a baby, but can't seem to slow down long enough to really focus on that. We love that life together is never boring. We are in it for the long haul, no matter what. I really believe that.

(Seriously. I got it right the second time around and I'm sticking to it.)

Fifty years from now? I see Hubs and I together, old as dirt, annoying each other just like we do now, perhaps having walker-races down the hallway and bitching about who used the last bit of denture glue.

(Hey, it's not everyone's idea of their ideal golden years, but it's mine, okay? JUST GO WITH IT.)