I’m attracted to impossibly suave, artistically talented guys who smoke cigarettes with an air of charm. The kind who frowns as he concentrates on his next masterpiece – on an instrument, on canvas, words on paper – the brooding moody sort whom you love to hate for their eccentric temperament.
I also have a huge soft spot for muscular guys who can’t live a day without working up a sweat in the gym or playing manly ball games. (Soccer is gay in my opinion, I’m referring more to basketball and rugby sorts.) Men who look and behave like men and not those chao ah gua lookalikes that Korea, Taiwan and Japan are pushing out every other day. The men who look like they could kill a grizzly bear with their bare hands, yet has a hidden ability to handle newborn babies with such tenderness it’ll make you weep.
So… I have no idea how or why I ended up marrying Hubs.
And worse, how I can tell him every other day that he’s the best husband a girl could want. (Save for the lack of $$.)
I shall now borrow Joshua’s commonly used phrases: “Don’t know why. You crazy. I’m eating. Go away.”