Charles Ingalls, the hunky, hard-working family man from Little House on the Prairie, was my childhood crush. I married Charles Ingalls, or at least the closest I could have possibly come to him, anyway. My Husband is the real life version of Charles Ingalls.
I first laid eyes on Husband in high school. It was lust at first sight. That’s right. Love takes time. Lust is immediate; especially when you are a hormonal teenager.
I sometimes saw Husband at church. No doubt, he was the highlight of mass. The first time he asked me for a date was after Saturday night mass, Spring of 1997. He took me to a square dance.
That date was wonderful. Except, for one thing. My hands sweat. A LOT. Think drippy faucet. And, just in case you are not familiar with square dancing, touching hands is a big requirement.
Apparently my overactive sweat glands did not turn Husband off completely. Sweat factor could have possibly been a plus – if you know what I mean. 😉 He was hormonal too. (don’t over think this — gutter mind)
My Husband is the best looking man I have ever seen. He is also the hardest working man, I could argue, in the world. And he is a great Dad.
If he were not mine, I would want him.
I could write a book about my love for Husband. That book would also need to include a few chapters about our rougher times. Over the years, there have been some moments where just the thought of him irritated me. But those pass. Just like gas. And we are forever. That is our love story.