A Good Looking Man

My husband is a good looking man. I’ve known it for a long time. Just look at that face. Dark brooding eyes with flecks of green and gold. Long dark lashes. High cheekbones. Strong features. Perfect complexion. And would you look at those lips? Slightly curved, mostly full. Perfect for kissing.

Fan self. Squirm in chair. Check racing pulse.

He’s simply magnetic. Handsome to the core. But you know what? He has no idea. He doesn’t realize the power he could have over women. Which makes him more irresistible, am I right?

Women look at him. Often. He’s got one of those faces that reads like a good man. A face that screams, “I’m faithful, gentle, and I’ll love you like a woman should be loved.”

Which is why I shouldn’t be surprised when girls try to flirt with him.

Friday afternoon, Brandon came by my work to help me move furniture for the new library. He parked in the structure, so we had to walk a little ways across campus. We strolled out of the office, hand in hand, talking about where we’d go for dinner. (Friday date night! Yay.) When we got close to the parking lot, I let go of his hand to fish something out of my purse.

In the seconds that it took to drop his hand and busy myself with my belongings, I somehow lost my inherent claim on my dear, sweet, dashingly good looking husband. When I looked up, some young broad was walking toward us. She was beautiful, I’ll admit. Wavy, long blond hair lightly grazing across her face in the wind. Clear blue almond shaped eyes. Subtle makeup to bring out her perky little features. A tiny spattering of freckles on her soft porcelain skin. Skinny jeans that clung irritatingly tight to her curvy hips.

As she came closer to us, her eyes fell on Brandon’s face. I watched her tuck her chin, pout her lips, toss her hair. She looked down. Looked up through her eyelashes. Looked down again. Looked back at him with a light provocative smile. And when she looked for the third time, she threw him that glance girls love to give guys. You know, the one that says, “I’d like to take you home.”

The floozy.

She never even looked at me. Not once. I was standing right next to him. Not a few inches away. Obviously with him. Who did she think I was? Nobody? I just happened to be walking at the same pace? Was I just some random obstacle in between her lusty glances and my my husbands handsome face?

I felt my face melt into a mean looking stink-eye. Watched myself punch her in the eye. Pull her flowy hair. Kick her in the shin. Wrestle her to the ground and make her promise not to ever look in his direction again. Does she think she can step up on my man? I DON’T THINK SO. We strapping viking women aren’t afraid to get a little rough.

Except I obviously didn’t do those things. I mostly just furrowed my eyebrows and stood with my mouth gaping open at her audacity. WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS?

Where was Brandon in all this? He was pretty oblivious to the first two glances. I watched as he made eye contact with her on that third and final look. And you know what? He just sort of half smiled, mostly in confusion. Like he couldn’t understand what just happened. When she brushed by us, Brandon turned to me with this incredulous look on his face, like “Did you just see what that girl did?”

Like I could miss it.

And then I did what any wife would do. I smacked him on the chest for being so good-looking. If he can’t keep girls from undressing him with their eyes, then he needs to wear a bag over his head. It’s that simple.

On a related note, I will now be holding his hand everywhere we go, whether he likes it or not.