Those of you who have kept abreast of Kelly’s 10-part series dedicated to our eldest daughter’s seemingly endless birthday extravaganza will not be surprised to learn that in this family one can not, within reason, be denied anything on one’s birthday. To her credit, I have never had to apply this informal contract’s “within reason” clause to any of my wife’s celebrations, as Kelly is by far our little clan’s most staunch fiscal conservative, and not once has she requested a pony, Caribbean cruise, or male stripper (oh, sure, she asked for all three at the same time that one time, but that wasn’t her birthday, and…I’ve probably said too much already.) This year, however, my lovely bride asked of me something to which I never would have consented had I actually been paying attention to the question. “I need a small favor,” she may-or-may-not have asked as I was watching a college football game…a college football game, people! For a Southern male asking a question requiring any amount of thought at a time like that is, I imagine, akin to asking one of you ladies to complete your tax return while undergoing an OB-GYN exam. “Could you write a post for my blog on my birthday?” she supposedly asked me during the home team’s attempt to convert a third-and-long. “Sure,” I allegedly replied, probably followed by something like, “huh?” or “what?” or “come again?”
Too late. I committed. And thus, here we are.
Kelly provided me no direction as to what I should write about, but as she selected this, the 37th anniversary of her birth, as the day she wanted this to appear, I suppose she intended for me to pen something sentimental, or at the very least, nice. And so as not to disappoint, I will honor her faith in me by regaling you, the dedicated Song for Whoever reader, with a tale of why I fell in love with Kelly and remain deeply in love with her to this day. Above all her obvious attributes, it was her two most prominent features that initially drew me to her that first day we met. I found myself lost in them instantly, and all these years later, they have not lost their power to mesmerize me. In days of antiquity poets would write sonnets about them, and kings would launch armies to possess them. They are perfection, and empirical proof of the existence of God.
They are, of course, her tits.
Oh, her other physical features have their merits, I suppose. Her smile, for example, is luminous and contagious. Her bright eyes betray her, as they as so expressive she is incapable of lying. She laughs often, loudly and sincerely, and makes other laugh as well. Her eyes, her smiles, her laughter…all of these are endearing, and yet…none can be squeezed, rubbed or nuzzled. Advantage: boobies.
Sure, I suppose I could make mention that the quality of her heart makes her easy to adore. It’s a heart filled with love, compassion, and (I hope even after reading this post) forgiveness. She is warm, kind soul, and people she meets instantly feel like they’re her friends. Yes, my wife has a big heart; luckily for me, covering that heart are even larger hooters.
Could I tell you all about what an incredible friend she’s been to me? Is it possible that I could talk for hours on what an amazing mother she is? Do I find her ability to juggle a family and career inspiring? Yes, yes, and yes. Coincidentally, “incredible” “amazing” and “inspiring” are all apt adjectives for her sweater puppies, her fun bags, her flesh pillows…and that’s just from the comments from strangers on her myspace page.
In summary, while I wear my love for Kelly on my sleeve, she wears the reason I love her on her chest. Yes, I realize that perfect breasts, unlike my love for her, don’t last forever. I am aware that, unlike my devotion to her, her personal flotation devices will one day sag. I am buoyed, however, by the knowledge that no matter how powerful the evil forces of gravity and time are, they are no match for my deep love…or silicone in the hands of a skilled surgeon.
Ed. Note #2: I’m going out on a limb here, but this may be the last time Bill is asked to “guest blog.”