To the Wife Who Calls Your Husband Your Best Friend, I Have a Reality Check for You

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 fashion, I can walk down told line and thump each of you right in the middle of your foreheads.

By Robin OBryant

Is your husband really, genuinely your best friend? Really ?

Because mine isnt.

When people ask me how I met 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 merely ran for it! Whats to lose , amiright ?!

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

My mothers had just gone through a shocking divorce, and by shocking, let me just say that to this very day, almost 20 years after their divorce, Ive never heard my mothers argue. Ever. They woke us up one fine Alabama Saturday morning and told us they had get a divorce a few weeks earlier and my dad was moving out. There was no warn shot fired , no endeavor at advise or reconciliation, merely that one sucker punch when we werent paying attention. A years 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 nevertheless, I laid out my words in my journal 😛 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 give me a sign or something when I meet my husbandTHEN Ill date him and fall in love. I dont want to danger picking the incorrect person again. After everythingI 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 getting weirder by the second .) It was kind of a Christian convention satisfies county fair/ campgrounds, 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 following 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 kind. My type was clean cut and all-American, the kind who wore lots of Polo shirts and khaki gasps, maybe 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 thought sanitary and his naturally brown hair was bleached blonde and spiked in a manner not unlike Edward Cullensor Edward Scissorhands, for that matter.

Regardless, fulfilling Zeb began a weekend-long love affair with his vintage Harley-Davidson and Texas back roads. Every hour Zeb jumped on his bike, hed give me a nod, Id hop on and marriage take off. The rumbling of the Harley and the distort roads through the Hill Country almost 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 unwittingly press any boobage against his back and give him the incorrect 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 reeked sweetly of sunshine and gasoline. I was sitting there with my Bible open on my lap when I had a crazy thought 😛 TAGEND

My husband 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 hollered, 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 emotions 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 gives 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 instance, once our 3-year-old had stroll pneumonia. Sadie was operating a fever, listless and refused to drink anything. I tried all manner of juices, an smorgasbord of sippy beakers 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 merely dont guess she requires sugar. He told, again.

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

He was as mad as all get by, but he went to the storevictory was mine! Sadie would be hydrated! All was well with the worlduntil he walked in the door carrying a box of 200 Otter Pops that werent even frozen.Is this really happening ?! I yelled, What the hell? POPSICLES, Zeb! Why is that so hard?

These ARE Popsicles! He yelled 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 told, 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 altogether filled with fury. Over freaking Popsicles.

But thats the way “its with” me and Zebwe are passionate and stubborn. Sometimes I guess I might insure myself on an episode of Dateline , Josh Mankiewicz strolling down our street as a camera pans wide and tells, In the small town of Greenwood, Mississippi, everything seemed perfect for Zeb and Robin OBryantuntil one day, in a fit of fury, 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 cooking dinner. Hekisses my neck and his beard tickles my skin, Sorry, he whispers. And I melt.

Zeb isnt my best friend. Depending on the movie I want to see, Ill ditch 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 punishment, because marriage isnt easy, and it most certainly isnt all happy.

Id instead tell 😛 TAGEND

I really appreciate you driving me to therapy every 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 stretch marks look like a topographical map of the Rocky Mountains.

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

About the Author : Robin OBryant 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 asRobin OBryantor Twitter .

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