The Hubsters

I got reprimanded today for not adding the Hubsters into the Genetic Insanity roll call. I have since added him into the mix, but there is something interesting about our relationship that needs to be written about.

The Hubsters is a very patient man.

Personally, I think I am pretty easy to live with. I might be way off in left field with that thinking (sort of like the dude who thinks he's the humblest guy he knows), but there are some positive points to being married to an artist/writer.

First, I am a low maintenance gal. I don't mean that I don't gussy myself up, wear make up, do my hair and be an all around priss, because I do all those things. I say I am low maintenance because I can hang out with the hubsters for hours and not fight for the wii controls, the tv remote or even vie for his attention watching a football game. I can watch scores and listen to man shrieks over bad calls all night with a laptop warming my legs and a good story in my head. I even pause for an occasional commercial break smooch.

Second, research is good for the soul. Research covers a lot of ground from an experimental kiss to a guy's view on leg hair. The Hubsters is a bluntly honest guy that doesn't coat his opinion for anyone. Makes my research so easy.

Third, I save money. Anyone who knows me even a little knows that I can spend the dough. I'm not selfish about my spending habits either. I like to buy for my man, for my boys and anyone else that pops into my head. The only reason why I am not flat broke is because when I get on a writing streak, I don't spend a dime. In fact, I don't leave my house and walk a straight path between my studio and the kitchen. I've been stock piling a healthy sum in my bank account for my next writer's block. When I get out of the house, the shopping spree is going to be a doozie.

Okay, so I might not be the best writer/artist to live with, but I can't complain. The Hubsters takes my oddities in stride and when I bother him, I hit save, kiss his cheek and tell him he is the king of my world.

Poor guy.