A Story About Tom

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom.

Otherwise known as my husband.

He has a strange habit of always leaving the same amount of drink in his cups:



He doesn't seem to comprehend that if you don't finish a drink that you should dump it out and perhaps even *gasp* wash the glass.

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom, who leaves his soda cans all over the house:



And refuses to pick up dead moths:



He won't admit that he's afraid to toss it out.

"Suck it up with a vaccuum!" he exclaims.

Yet guess who has to dump the vacuum container out?

Me. That's right. And I'd rather not dump out a moth carcass.

Guess who had to pick up the dead moth with half a box of tissues because I was terrified that I'd accidentally touch it or hear the disgusting crunch of its body?

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who decides to strip in the middle of the living room:




He just tosses his clothes wherever even though the laundry room isn't terribly far away.

Or he'll just toss his clothes in our bedroom when the laundry basket is clearly only a few feet away:



Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who seems confused when the last of the toilet paper is used:



Did his parents forget to teach him that if you use the last bit that you need to replace the roll?

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who makes a mess out of his side of the bathroom:




Even though I've just cleaned it.

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who has loved me since high school:



He took me to a little dance called Homecoming despite that my glasses were nearly as big as my face and I had no idea what to do with my bangs.

This was also when he had hair.

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who took me to see Star Wars: The Phantom Menance on our first date:




And didn't even try to get fresh.

It would take two more dates before we held hands.

We were both incredibly shy.

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who also took me to prom:




And sent me a good luck exam gram during exam week:





Weasel is the nickname I gave him in high school. I said it one day and it just stuck.

He calls me Creampuff.

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who knew we'd be together forever even though I wasn't sure.

He wrote this in my senior book, letting me know that he'd always be around, that he knew we were meant to be:



This was when he actually wrote down things.

Now I'm lucky if I get one line in a card.

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who wrote down the names of our children while in high school:




The first name was Ariana. He didn't know how to spell it.

And he still doesn't know how to spell Natalie.

He's an awful speller you see.

I opted not to use the name Ariana though. It no longer sounded right to me.

And Victoria. Tom has liked the name Victoria forever.

Natalie would have been Victoria but I refused.

Three children is what we decided on in high school before we learned how much work babies truly were.

And how they don't like to sleep the first few months.

Let me tell you a ltitle story about a man named Tom who stuck beside me when I found out I was pregnant at 19.

Who told me that of course he'd marry me, wasn't that the plan all along?

That it would just have to happen earlier than expected was all.

Let met tell you a little story about a man named Tom who says he loved me since I was 17.

And will love me forever.

Let me tell you a little story about a man named Tom who might be the biggest slob in the world, but has the sweetest heart.

And who gave me two beautiful children:



And tells me I'm beautiful and that he loves me every single day.

Let me tell you a little story about a woman named Amber.

Who knows how lucky I am.

And will love a man named Tom forever.