Wassup, Dude???

A couple of nights ago, hubby and I were spending some quality time together (read: sitting side by side with our own pretty little laptops perched in front of us).  I was obsessing over numbers again; he was looking over some car websites.  Out of the blue, he said to me: "My new car is coming next week, by the way."

Hold on just a sec.  Did you say new car??  I didn't know you were buying a new car?  What's wrong with your car now?  You just bought that car, like a year ago.

He gave me one of his "you're-so-daft" look and said, "Oh, you didn't know?"

No shit.  Obviously, I have yet to master the art of telepathic communication.  "So what did you get?" I asked.

Okay, turned out the dude just bought an SUV with a kick-ass engine.  To replace the other SUV with a kick-ass engine that he just bought a little over a year ago.  Which was supposed to kick more ass than the SUV with a kick-ass engine he had before that.

What the *toot*?!?

Well, I suppose I should be thankful that it was an SUV, and not some kick-ass two-seater car like the one he bought three years ago.  I was convinced he bought that car during a temporary lapse of sanity.  Either that or he'd been smoking some kind of illegal substance behind my back.  And while we're on the topic of arses, you'd have thought that something with that many kick-ass qualities would at least provide you with plenty of space for your ass right?  Well, guess what?  The dang car didn't even have enough space for your purse, much less accommodate a small human being, such as our daughter, for example.  So the only option available was to sit with the small human being and your mommy purse on top of you, which was without a doubt, a safety hazard, not to mention butt-uncomfortable.  It kicked ass alright.  My ass, that is.

Still, the dude is changing cars as often as he's changing undies (well, alright, I admit comparing it to the frequency at which he changed undies was a bit of an exaggeration on my part. Notice the word "a bit" though. Ewww, I know).  And while I'd be delighted if he were to change undies more frequently, the same obviously does not apply to him changing cars.  Honestly, there's something weird going on with that dude. 

Um, could it be that he's undergoing some sort of midlife crisis?  Like, a second fourth puberty or something? 

I googled "male midlife crisis," and surpriseeeee!!!  Having "an unexplained desire to buy a sports car" is pretty much one of the telltale signs of midlife crisis. You see, my husband didn't use to like cars.  He was most definitely not into cars when I married him.  Well, not until recently.  As for the other telltale signs, according to my google research?  Let's just say "buying a sports car" can be considered the least of my worries.

Wait, so should I be worried then?  Is it time to book an appointment with Dr. Phil?

Oh, but the whole thing was such a cliche, I couldn't stop laughing!  HAHAHAHAHA.  I admit, I am a little worried about the dude; but right now, I'm just glad it's him and not me!  

I could not remember any time in the last six years since I've given birth that I wasn't worrying about cellulite, stretch marks, or sagging boobies.  Or fitting into the designer jeans I splurged on just before I found out I was pregnant.  And let's not forget those eye-opening experiences... when upon seeing a fine specimen of male species, my mind would momentarily forgot about everything else but to capture his attention, only to find out that the only reason he was staring my way was because I was standing next to the Playboy magazine stand.  Oh, that and the fact that I had a 7 months-old baby who at the time was drooling buckets all over my oh-so-fashionable Baby Bjorn contraption, which I was convinced was designed specifically to cover my womanly assets.  Having been through such happy times, how could I deny my husband the same experiences?

I know I should probably take this midlife crisis thingy seriously, if he is indeed having one.  But my brilliant mind works in mysterious ways, and for some reason, the thought of my self-assured husband secretly plucking his white hair in front of the mirror, or him suddenly worrying about wrinkles and excess fat, or him trying to impress college girls to prove he's still attractive enough, is downright hilarious.  Of course that doesn't mean I wouldn't kick his ass all the way to Mars if he tries anything funny.  But let the dude wear my shoes for once.