Who’d You Rather?

The huz is on his way home early.

And here sits the new Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition.

She’s very pretty. No she is. Super cute. Good for her. I saw her on the Today Show this morning saying how getting this cover is like winning the Super Bowl of modeling. And how cool it is that they print her name on the cover too (because *shocker* models have names as well as bodies). She seemed very nice and I hope she has a very successful career.

But yo. He’s coming home and I’ve got a feeling he’s going to walk right past me and into the loving arms of … wait let me check… Brooklyn Decker and all her glossiness.

I mean how can a scroungy mommy of two boys in an old college sweatshirt, ratty headband, and pink slippers even consider competing with the beautiful Ms. Brooklyn. Me with sidewalk chalk on my jeans and milk on my sleeve and a slight headache from trying to convince my six year old to write two fricking sentences about his favorite thing at school. Just two. Why the tears and the drama?! And I’ve only JUST got them to bed and finally ate a little dinner so screw tiny yellow bikinis and un muffin-topped bellies. I say YAY to headbands and sweatshirts and pink slippers. And sleeping children. Ahhhhh….

Oh he just got home! Well hello there husband! How was your day? Oh a few of your students didn’t show up for the test today? That’s not cool. He’s shaking his head, now grading papers in front of “Lost”, a beer cracked open at his side.

However. The magazine is lying face down right here next to me. He doesn’t know she’s here waiting.

Because there’s her… OR there’s me looking just fiiiine. A certain special kind of fine he sees – ohhhh – just about everyday.

Course he’d pick me. No insecurity here. None. Zero. Zilch.

No really. It’s cool.

I’m going to go give him his magazine. And a big ol’ smooch.

Because I mean, c’mon. Really. Who’d you rather?