I grew up with hippyish, divorced, parents. My dad wore cutoff jeans, long hair, and ball caps to work. And always smelled like sawdust. My mom had big hair and swollen feet from standing on them all day. Since my mom was trying to raise three kids on a gas station cashier’s salary, we grew up dirt poor. For most of my life, we couldn’t afford a phone, cable, food, clothes. We had so many wreck vehicles in one year that I can’t even remember all of them.
I dressed in black clothes, thought macabre thoughts, listened to scary music, and did everything I could to make people focus on my outside instead of my inside. That was me, funeral garb, deep, dark thoughts, black eyeliner, boys who look like girls trying to look like boys.
I’ve since learned that blending in works so much better when getting people to leave you alone.
I’ve talked about my husband on here countless times, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually described him.
He’s more than 6 feet tall, he hovers around 170-200 (mostly lean) pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes, freckles, and an amazing smile. He’s from eastern Kentucky and sounds like it. His mom stayed at home. And, although, his dad’s job involved rock-like substances removed from the ground, he worked in an office and wore pressed shirts and ties to work. He was a high school football player. His parents bought him a car when he was a kid. He grew up in as close as Pikeville Kentucky could come to a McMansion as you could get. The house had a total of 4 full bathrooms and a couple of half baths, just in case.
In short, he is the antithesis of everything about me and everything I was growing up.
As of today, we’ve been together for ten years.