I made it last night. Here's the front:
Here's the back:
But that's not what's on my mind; it's just what I did.
Here's what's on my mind: Changing a man. Adjusting his behavior. They tell us we can't do it, and we shouldn't want to. Some women try. They say or think things like, "He's so hot, if only I could control his schedule, his libido, his language, his laundry". Other women, like me, try their best not to try to change anything.
I like my man the way he is, all football and racecars, all beer and meat, all these things that men are that women might sometimes want to change. I don't. I never did. I like those things about him (and all of the other things he is which help to make him whole). So tell me how am I supposed to feel when I find that he has adjusted anyway in the natural course of our life together?
Another woman might be thrilled that she's managed to prevent her man from hanging out with his friends watching football for almost a month straight (or possibly more?). I feel lousy. True, my plan came up first and it involves my family members and an anniversary, and I guess I shouldn't be surprised that a considerate man like mine would accept these plans with grace and even enthusiasm. But when the football invitation comes up just ONE DAY TOO LATE, how can I feel good about his having to tell his friends, "Sorry guys, I'm going to a musical with my in-laws"?
I want to climb to the nearest rooftop and scream, "I DIDN'T DO IT ON PURPOSE!!!!" I don't want to be that woman, nor do I want to be mistaken for her.
It's not that he's changed in essence. The football is still there. But in order to prevent my man from adjusting any more than necessary, I'm going to have to put a moratorium on Sunday plans for a while. Mom. Dad. No more family dinners on Sundays. For now.
Am I the first woman to marry a man and feel the need to prevent changing him? Love is a big responsibility, and I fear I have wielded mine carelessly. Senor, next Sunday, no girly stuff. Only football and racecars, only beer and meat.