Okay, so I wanted to post this earlier, but I didn't. I mean, I'm super happy with Matt, but I don't want to be overly saccharine on here. Also, I realized how much it would make me seem like a complete fatass. Matt made a good point, I believe, when he said, regarding my making myself out to be a fatass, "That ship has sailed." So here goes it.
I've been taking this class all year, every Monday, to learn how to teach gifted students. It's been miserable. The class is all the way across town, and there are a million other bitchy things I could say about it but won't on the internet. It's every Monday. It has started my weeks out in the shittiest of fashions. It has caused me to start drinking as soon as I walk in the door just to alleviate my extreme rage, which then causes Tuesdays to be "Hangover Tuesdays." It's been awful.
But this Monday--yesterday--was the last one. THE LAST ONE!
The dream-husband-ness actually begins earlier, when Matt offered to bring me one of Chick-Fil-A's NEW spicy chicken sandwiches during my planning at school. Unfortunately, I had some big issues to deal with (things I'm not allowed to post on the world wide web, but that have been super stressful for the past week or so), so I told him not to. (Instead, he brought me one after school today, and OH DEAR GOD THAT SHIT WAS AMAZING.)
Matt decided that we needed to celebrate the ending of gifted class, and when I called him on my way home, he had started to prepare pot roast. Talk about a comfort food! But that wasn't all. . .He had also purchased for me a loaf of sourdough French bread from Publix. I mean, it really doesn't get much better than that. But it does. Because he had also gotten the Cupcake Cabernet wine to use in the pot roast and for us to drink. Are you kidding me right now? No, he really did that.
And when I had a glass of Coke Zero and I left it in the kitchen after I went into the living room to watch the news, he brought it to me in the living room without me even asking. And when the dogs barked and whined to be let back in the house, he went to get them. And when I wanted to take a nap to sleep off my rage and my exhaustion, he let me. And then I woke up to the smell of pot roast, and it was time to eat. Are you kidding me right now?
If you ask me, it doesn't get much better than waking up to the smell of pot roast.
So I ate so much that I wanted to puke. I do that on occasion.
When I decided that I needed to go to bed early, and I got into bed (with two dogs by my side), it was Matt who stood by the side of the bed, talking to me, joking with me, listening to me kvetch, delivering rawhides to the dogs.
The big thing here, though, is that Matt was so wonderful, and that's why I married him. I know I mock him all the time on here for being so smart with trivia and logic, and so retarded with spatial relations, but I should say more how much I appreciate him. I should mention how his strengths perfectly complement my weaknesses and vice versa, and how he's grown more thoughtful and compassionate by the day. And how he makes me be more logical and reasonable by the day. As cliche as it is (and it's really fucking cliche), Matt makes me want to be better. He challenges me. He cherishes me. He's the best.
And you know that he's the best because he brought me a loaf of sourdough French bread--that he listened enough to my explanation at Publix about how I do love the crusty white baguette, but that the sourdough french bread is the superior loaf.
Matt's the stuff that Mandy's dreams are made of.
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