backseat gamer.

i just recently discovered how bad i am.  the Brit is playing his game on the Wii, and me,  needing to be involved,  starts yelling things out like “go there” “why are you doing that?” “did you try this already?” “hurry up!”  it’s not like i don’t have complete faith in the Brit completing the game,  he’s just more…thoughtful.  i go in a room, do my thing and i’m out, moving on to the next mission.  the Brit will spend 15 minutes poking around in a corner.  he’ll waste all of his arrows shooting at a rock to see if it’ll break (what’s the definition of insanity?).   the Brit is good at ignoring me.  if roles were reversed,  i would’ve shoved a sock in his mouth and locked him in the cupboard.  so anyway,  when i bought this game at the shop,  the geek-extraordinaire ringing me up said that the game had almost forty hours of gameplay.  wanna know how long the Brit’s been playing it?  take a guess!

eighty hours.

does it sound like i’m annoyed?  i’m not really.  i like watching him play – his body leaning to the left as he’s directing his charcter in that direction,  crouching down on the sofa to avoid enemy fire.  bless him, he’s so cute.  i just try to help by telling him how to play the game my way.  and why should he listen to me?  because i’m a genius. 

tag! i’m it.

My twin has passed this WHY I Love Hubby award on to me so now it’s my turn to wax lyrical about the Brit.  I reserve the right to go back and change this post once the Brit’s new vacuum has surpassed me for the number one spot.

there are so many reasons and it’s not why i love the Brit so much but it’s more like how can i not love the Brit?  he’s so good and i’m so crap most of the time but yet he still adores me.  how can that be? (and i can be REALLY crap sometimes).

he pretty much gets me anything i want – esp. when i’m grouchy. 
he cooks me breakfast every weekend.
when we go out, he always packs snacks for when i get hungry and grouchy.  it shuts me up until we find a place to eat.
i spend loads of money and shoes, clothes and bags and he doesn’t say a word.  he actually encourages it.
he humours me when i’m being bitchy and pms-y.
he makes me feel like a princess even when i don’t deserve it.
he eats soy ice cream because i can’t have normal ice cream during lent.

i don’t know what to call it, mainly because i can’t get my head around the enormity of it.  unconditional love, respect, understanding.  words i can use to describe it but it doesn’t even come close.  whatever it is,  i feel it every day and i know he does too.  it is ingrained in everything that we do and say.

and i can go on… but being all mushy like this isn’t my style.  eww.  it makes me feel all weird, especially on a monday morning when thoughts of getting stuck in the elevator with the man on my floor who wears too much Old Spice and talks too much is more appealing than work.  as i type this,  i see a little email from the Brit pop up in the corner of my screen that says “i love you. you make me smile.”  how sweet is that?  and i email him first thing in the morning with things like “did you pay the rent?” “did you call the repairman?”  “can you order this dress for me?  link attached”  see how crap i am?  he makes me want to be better and that says a lot because i think i’m the best.