EM: Triumph
My greatest triumph, that’s easy.
I got one of the last good ones. Of course I’m talking about my husband. He’s a genuinely good guy. That doesn’t mean he’s well behaved. He isn’t. And he has this awful habit of telling the worst jokes ever. I mean just bad. They aren’t all dirty or raunchy, just ‘Why did the frog cross the road? Because he was stapled to the chicken.’ variety of bad. He also has this phobia of the clothes hamper that I don’t understand. Men.
But I was talking about who he is, not what he does to irritate me. Andy’s a cop. An officer of the law, a detective. And he’s always considered that to be the greatest thing any man could be. A protector. Someone to uphold the law and make our city a safer place. Of course living in a place like Chicago makes that one hell of an uphill battle, but he’s dedicated. So dedicated that he didn’t throw in the towel when he was injured in the line of duty.
He’s brave but still vulnerable, though I doubt many people think that. They just see him as the smart-assed, smart-mouthed guy with a badge and a gun. I know different though. I consider that part of my triumph too. I got him to let me in. Okay, maybe I forced my way in. I’m like that. Hard headed. I was there when he was at his lowest point. I was there through the tough time he had adjusting to the fact that he lost a limb. I was there when he was feeling sorry for himself, mad at the world and I was there when he decided to not let his injury define who he is any longer. To go back to his place on the force and be the best officer he knows how to be.
I used to think he’d resent me being there through all of that. I thought he wouldn’t want to be around someone who had seem him like that, who knew what he looked like when he fell flat on his face the first time he tried to walk with a prosthetic leg. Someone who held him while he cried like a baby because he thought his life was over. Instead it turns out I was the only one he wanted after that. He didn’t have to worry about explaining to me what it was like. Knew I wasn’t going to ask any awkward or weird questions. (And believe me, people ask the rudest, weirdest damned things.)
He’s cute. Sure that makes me shallow but I enjoy having a good-looking husband. He has these eyes, bright hazel and so kind, that I can just gaze into for ages. And his hands…love his hands. Cute butt too. Really. But what really gets me is that little boy smile of his. This sort of half smirk he does. And he knows it’s adorable. Uses it to get his way more than I care to admit.
He’s also loyal. Not just to me either. But his partner, John Prudhomme, too. John was the cop no one wanted for a partner. Depressing jerk of a man. No sense of humor. And he’s just plain weird. Crazy Cajun nutjob. He eats these things he calls mudbugs. And oh his music just kills me. Not to mention his habit of getting Andy to do things to piss me off. Anyway…Andy decided that he liked John for some odd reason and stuck by him. Always. Still does. They work together and play together. Sometimes I think they spend too much time with each other, but they are sort of like brothers or best friends. Can’t have one without the other.
He’s so many wonderful things to me and he’s mine. My husband. Loves me. I was wonderful enough in his eyes that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Okay, know what? Scratch all that shit. I changed my mind. My greatest triumph is that I wrote all of this and didn’t barf once.
I got one of the last good ones. Of course I’m talking about my husband. He’s a genuinely good guy. That doesn’t mean he’s well behaved. He isn’t. And he has this awful habit of telling the worst jokes ever. I mean just bad. They aren’t all dirty or raunchy, just ‘Why did the frog cross the road? Because he was stapled to the chicken.’ variety of bad. He also has this phobia of the clothes hamper that I don’t understand. Men.
But I was talking about who he is, not what he does to irritate me. Andy’s a cop. An officer of the law, a detective. And he’s always considered that to be the greatest thing any man could be. A protector. Someone to uphold the law and make our city a safer place. Of course living in a place like Chicago makes that one hell of an uphill battle, but he’s dedicated. So dedicated that he didn’t throw in the towel when he was injured in the line of duty.
He’s brave but still vulnerable, though I doubt many people think that. They just see him as the smart-assed, smart-mouthed guy with a badge and a gun. I know different though. I consider that part of my triumph too. I got him to let me in. Okay, maybe I forced my way in. I’m like that. Hard headed. I was there when he was at his lowest point. I was there through the tough time he had adjusting to the fact that he lost a limb. I was there when he was feeling sorry for himself, mad at the world and I was there when he decided to not let his injury define who he is any longer. To go back to his place on the force and be the best officer he knows how to be.
I used to think he’d resent me being there through all of that. I thought he wouldn’t want to be around someone who had seem him like that, who knew what he looked like when he fell flat on his face the first time he tried to walk with a prosthetic leg. Someone who held him while he cried like a baby because he thought his life was over. Instead it turns out I was the only one he wanted after that. He didn’t have to worry about explaining to me what it was like. Knew I wasn’t going to ask any awkward or weird questions. (And believe me, people ask the rudest, weirdest damned things.)
He’s cute. Sure that makes me shallow but I enjoy having a good-looking husband. He has these eyes, bright hazel and so kind, that I can just gaze into for ages. And his hands…love his hands. Cute butt too. Really. But what really gets me is that little boy smile of his. This sort of half smirk he does. And he knows it’s adorable. Uses it to get his way more than I care to admit.
He’s also loyal. Not just to me either. But his partner, John Prudhomme, too. John was the cop no one wanted for a partner. Depressing jerk of a man. No sense of humor. And he’s just plain weird. Crazy Cajun nutjob. He eats these things he calls mudbugs. And oh his music just kills me. Not to mention his habit of getting Andy to do things to piss me off. Anyway…Andy decided that he liked John for some odd reason and stuck by him. Always. Still does. They work together and play together. Sometimes I think they spend too much time with each other, but they are sort of like brothers or best friends. Can’t have one without the other.
He’s so many wonderful things to me and he’s mine. My husband. Loves me. I was wonderful enough in his eyes that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. Okay, know what? Scratch all that shit. I changed my mind. My greatest triumph is that I wrote all of this and didn’t barf once.