I'm Married to the Pointer Sisters' Muse

He's so shy. And so good lookin'. And I will love him until the day I die. But Mr. Wonderful does not love the blogosphere. See, here's the link to his blog. Hmmm? You can't open it? Oh, wait. That's because he doesn't have one, won't ever have one, and probably thinks this is a very enormous waste of time. But we're okay with that. He's a very private person, and I, well I'm not.

I like to talk. Especially during certain times of the month, and a full moon, and a lunar eclipse. Honey, you'd better just bring out the baked goods, pull up a chair, pour yourself a drink and turn down the volume on that Lifetime movie of the week that I've been watching where Merideth Baxter Birney plays the woman who is DWB (dying while beautiful) and yeah I know how it's going to end because I've seen in before, but what does that matter? 'Cuz babe, I need to emote. And ruminate. And say the same thing over and over and over again until neither one of us can take it anymore. And then, when you think it's all settled and done with and you can relax, I'll bring it up again. Just as you're about to fall asleep.

And even though I've kept you up beyond your bedtime and exhausted your very last nerve, you'll still get up with the kiddos in the morning and make waffles. "Fresh waffles" as Max likes to call them (as opposed to the frozen babies I toss in the toaster while my coffee is brewin') and you let the boy crack the egg and stir the batter even though it makes something twitch inside of you to see the shell go into the batter. You still say "Good job" and remind him not to lick the spoon due to the uncooked egg (BTW, I saw him lick it when you turned your back, but he seems fine).

Which is why I love you, my Mr. Wonderful. And I will respect your wishes to remain anonymous and mysterious.