He doesn’t bring me flowers.  Says he wouldn’t know what to get for me.

He doesn’t buy me gifts.  He’d rather that I just buy what I want for myself, after all, I’m the one who holds the purse.

He calls me Marge.  No endearments.  “Because Marge is who you are.”

He doesn’t take me out on dates.  The closest thing we can call a date is when we buy groceries without the kids in tow and we take a bite at Red Ribbon before going home.

We don’t have a song.  He listens to Yes, Pat Metheny and Bela Fleck.  I listen to Barry Manilow, James Ingram and George Benson.

He reads Hawking and Sagan.  I read Grisham and Ludlum.  He reads textbooks.  I read business books and DIYs.

We watch TV from different rooms.  He surfs channels, I stay glued even on commercials.  Especially if it’s NCIS.  And I stay glued even on replays.

HHWW (Holding Hands While Walking) is taboo.

He doesn’t know what MFEO means.

And he kisses me on the forehead.

Because you see, my husband is not romantic.

But that is more than okay with me.

Who needs romance?  Definitely not me.

He doesn’t bring me flowers, but he cleans the bathroom.

He doesn’t buy me gifts, but he makes me breakfast in bed even on ordinary days.

He doesn’t take me out on dates, but he takes over the housechores so I could lie down and rest.

We don’t celebrate anniversaries.  We have not agreed on what date our anniversary is, actually.  I say it’s on the day we got married.  He says it has to be the day I accepted him into my life.

And to think that I said my husband is not romantic!

From the day we started living together, I have not once prepared my own coffee.  At least, when he’s around.  It has always been him who prepares it for me.  From those days when coffee was of the instant variety, to the day we switched to brewed, coffee would always be ready by the time I reach the breakfast table.

When the kids were still babies, I would wake up for feeding and he would already be changing nappies. Every single time.

I work ’til the wee hours of the morning, and my body clock wakes me up at 5:30, and I would see the bedroom door locked to keep the children out, and overhear him telling the kids to “quiet down, mommy needs to sleep.”

Ever since I’ve started seeing a nephrologist, he’s been making sure that I get enough fluid intake daily.  On days that he has to go out, he would deputize either one of the two younger kids to make sure that the glass on my desk gets refilled.

He intentionally left the car stereo of our old car broken for the longest time, because he’d rather hear me sing while he’s driving, or for us to talk and connect during the drive.  Now that we have a new car with a good working stereo, it still stays off when it’s just the two of us.

I buy one pair of shoes each year, and each time, he would know where to take me for something I would definitely love.  He knows me that well.

He doesn’t take me out on dates, but on my “dates with Jethro, Mac and G”, he makes sure there is a cold drink and chips within my reach, so I wouldn’t have to stand up to make a trip to the ref.  I once asked him, don’t you get jealous of Jethro?  He shrugged it off and said, “It will take one small tap on the remote control, Marge.”  Yeah, right.

And to think that I said my husband is not romantic!

Some time ago, I posted a photo on my Facebook Page.

It was this:

I always tell him, I’m sorry that he got a bad bargain marrying me.  He loves to eat, but I don’t cook.  And he would always tell me, “I did not marry you so you can cook for me.”

Well, actually, he married me so our daughter would be an Aberásturi.  Ha ha!

He’d deny that, of course.  Saying he just didn’t know how to deal with things in those days.

And I believe him.  I know he would have done things differently had he known.  He’s just not wired the same way as the rest, I guess. His love languages are acts of service first, and words of affirmation second.  He’s my my biggest fan and my staunchest supporter.  My WAHM life would have been a bust without his understanding and support.  As I always say, he’s the secret of my success.

We go around like we’re best buddies with kids.  Although more often than not, we’re mistaken to be siblings.  I can finish his sentences for him, and he can tell when I’m not feeling well.  And although he really can’t take my kind of music, he takes time to download, convert and upload them to my phone.  Just so I won’t have to.

He loves teasing me…

Admit it, Marge.  I am the wind beneath your wings.

And I do. He is!

And to think that I said my husband is not romantic!

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