Subjective

Last night, I suggested to Tim that, should we manage to reproduce, we should hope that the child gets my teeth (they're straight and I didn't need braces) and his legs. He looked at me rather quizzically, so I clarified, "I really like your legs."

"Well, I like your legs, too," he said.

And THAT is just love, because, objectively speaking, I can pretty much assure you that my legs are not desirable. I loved my grandmother a great deal; when I think of her, the picture in my head includes her sturdy, tan, knock-kneed, and unabashedly cellulite-ridden legs, her welcoming smile of straight white teeth, her elbows hyper-extended and her soft upper arms dangling as she held her arms out to hug me. As a kid, I very much enjoyed touching her arm fat (her skin was very soft), especially when it swayed as she turned the steering wheel. Nevertheless, when I realized that, through the magic of DNA, her limbs were also mine (minus the tan), I was not exactly filled with delight.

Perspective

Tim's sister and her boyfriend came over to watch "Meet the Robinsons" tonight.

After they left, I mentioned to Tim how much she reminds me of him, although in female form; she's got the same curly dark hair, the same nose (although in a more feminine form) -- and the thing I noticed last night when she took off her socks so that her boyfriend could crack the knuckles in her toes: she's got the same long toes that Tim does, although hers are not so hairy.

He said, "Actually, I think of your toes as kind of stubby."

"Honey, my toes are totally normal," I assured him.

"I know," he conceded. "It's just that my perspective is skewed."

He is the best husband I've ever had. (Also the only, but even if there were six, I'm sure I'd like him best.)