My Husband Isn’t My “Type”and He’s Definitely Not My Best Friend

“Is your spouse really, truly your best friend? Really? Because mine isnt.”

By Robin O’Bryant

Im going to need everyone who has posted a Facebook status along the lines of, Happy Anniversary to my best friend and the love of my life! to form a line, so that in an orderly manner, I can walk down said line and thumping each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.

Is your spouse really, truly your best friend? Really ?

Because mine isnt.

When people ask me how I gratified my husband, I usually just say, Church. You need to know someone pretty well before you say something like, God told me he was my husband and even though Im not used to hearing voices, I just went for it! Whats to lose, amiright ?!

It was the summer of 1997, I was 19 years old and expending the transgres working in the office of a new evangelical church my mother had started attending.

My parents had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, nearly 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my parents argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had gotten a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warning shot fired , no attempt at advise or reconciliation, just that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A year later, I broke up with my boyfriend of four years and my heart was still tender from both events.

Maybe I was naive to suppose I could bargain with God, but nonetheless, I laid out my words in my publication 😛 TAGEND

Ill never devote my heart away again. Im giving it to you. Perhaps Im ridiculous to never want to date again, but if you could just gives people a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont wishes to hazard picking the wrong person again. After everything…I dont trust my own judgment. So a burning bush? Im not in a hurry. Im ready to go all Sister Mary Clarence about this( thats a Sister Act jokeGod get me ). So, please. Smoke signals? Something…

Before I headed back for the next semester, my older brother Matt and I decided to go to Texas for a Christian motorcycle rally with a family from our new church.( And yes, I do realize this story is get weirder by the second .) It was kind of a Christian convention gratifies county fair/ campsites, but with former Hells Angels who have converted and love JesusIm sure you have the perfect mental picture.

We borrowed a tent, loaded Matts car and joined a caravan of cars in accordance with the OBryant family to Texas. One of their sons, Zeb, was a year younger than me. But even if I hadnt been in my Sister Mary Clarence phase, I wouldnt have looked at him twice.

Zeb wasnt my form. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki gasps, possibly played golf and most definitely was a member of Key Club. Zeb rode a metallic blue 1976 Harley-Davidson everywhere “hes been gone”, had a goatee that was a little longer than I guessed sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in accordance with the arrangements not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.

Regardless, meeting Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every time Zeb jumped on his bike, hed gives people a nod, Id hop on and wed take off. The growl of the Harley and the bend roads through the Hill Country nearly hypnotized me. The breeze explosion my face and ratted my hair as the sunlight warmed my jeans. I was careful to keep my hands gently on Zebs hips and to not lean too close against himSister Mary Clarence didnt want to inadvertently press any boobage against his back and give him the wrong idea.

We were sitting in a tent resurgence type of meetingfolding chairs and open air with the stars hanging low and lazy in the night sky. Our faces was currently gray with the road dust and we smelled sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy guessed 😛 TAGEND

My spouse is here somewhere …

My eyes scanned the crowd and as they did, they fell on Zeb, who was sitting to my right, rent jeans and motorcycle boots propped on the chair in front of him. Now Im not telling I heard an audible voice, but something deep inside of me clearly screamed, Its him.

I knew from that moment on I would marry him. And its a damn good thing I was hearing voices that nightotherwise I wouldve altogether missed it.

Zeb is my polar opposite. Hes an extrovert; Im an introvert. He loves nature and the outdoors; Ive wondered if I could get a PhD in Netflix. Hes calm, steady and always in a good mood. Im creative, a roller-coaster of feelings and quite franklyprone to hysterics.

I want a best friend who will tell me I need one more pair of shoes and a man who will remind me to save for my retirement account. I want to call my best friend when I feel Ive been wronged and hear her tell, What a b* tch! I cant believe she said that to you! I want to be married to a man who tells, Who dedicates a sh* t what she thinks? And I want to get into bed at night with a man who ignites things in me no one else can.

Zeb isnt my best friend.

I have never been so angry at my best friend that I fantasized about throwing a lamp or other miscellaneous piece of furniture at her head. I cant say the same for ole Zeb. For example, once our 3-year-old had walking pneumonia. Sadie was operating a fever, listless and rejects to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an smorgasbord of sippy cups and silly straws all to no avail.

Zeb, will you go to the store and get some Popsicles? I asked.

Do you really guess she requires sugar when shes this sick?

I guess she needs any type of fluid she can get down because shes going to get dehydrated. So yes, I guess she requires Popsicles. I replied.

Give her some water, Zeb advised.

I HAVE.

Try some juice.

Really Zeb? Ive tried everything. Thats why I need Popsicles. I was starting to get pretty pissed.

I just dont guess she requires sugar. He said, again.

Noted. Now go to the store and get Popsicles. Please. I said please out loud but in my head I was screaming, YOU SOB!

He was as mad as all get off, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the world…until he strolled in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.

Is this really happening ?! I screamed, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?

These ARE Popsicles! He screamed back.

No they arent! Theyll be Popsicles in 36 -4 8 hours but they are most certainly NOT Popsicles right now! Why didnt you get frozen ones?

He seemed me straight in the eye and said, I didnt know you could buy them that way.

Are you sure thats how you want to play this? Do you really want me to believe youre that stupid? I asked.

I dont know that Ive ever been so entirely filled with rage. Over freaking Popsicles.

But thats the way “its with” me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I guess I might ensure myself on an episode of Dateline , Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans broad and tells, In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything seemed perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryant…until one day, in a fit of rage, Robin did the unthinkable…

But then, in a split second, Zeb is there with eyes the exact same amber brown assunshine filtered through a brew bottle. He wraps his arms around me while Im standing at the stove cook dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my scalp, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.

Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill trenches him in a second for my girlfriends. But when things get real, I dont care if anyone is standing with me but him. Hes my partner, my equal and without a doubt, my better half. Zeb is the peanut butter to my jelly, the yin to my yang, the spiritual Xanax to my eight-ball of coke.

Im also going to need all of you people who tell, Thanks for the best 15 years of my life! to stand in a separate corner and await your own penalty, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.

Id rather tell 😛 TAGEND

I really appreciate you driving me to therapy each week .
Thanks for not leaving me when I act like a lunatic .

“Thanks for acting like you thought I was sexy for the last 16 years even though Ive gained and lost hundreds of pounds and my stretching marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.

I have lots of friends, hell, I even have lots of best friends…but there is and will always be, merely one Zeb. Hes my husband and thats enough.

About the Author : Robin O’Bryant is the The New Times best-selling author of Ketchup is a Vegetable and Other Lies Moms Tell Themselves. You can follow her on FaceBook as Robin O’Bryantor Twitter .

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