True Love

My husband sees me through the eyes of a blind man. To him, my figure is the same as when we first met, way back when we were 21. The body of a woman who carried four babies to term, and then carried four babies on the hip for years, doesn't register on his retina.


A friend told me that his vision difficulty is a sign of true love. Perhaps it is, but true love is no reason to go out and buy a string bikini and wear it onto the beach in front of God and everyone. Just because my spouse's eyeballs are cataracted by cupid certainly doesn't justify me exposing my saggy belly skin to everybody else on the beach. They aren't blinded by true love, but they might be blinded by me in my near birthday suit.


And here's the thing. If all the other matronly mamas' husbands are also blinded by love, then they are looking at me as I walk by and whispering to their wives, "You'd look better than her in a bikini." Love is blind but the neighbors see in high definition.