The Smartt View

Are you Lazy in Love?

Here’s a quiz for all you married men and women out there.  Answer each question honestly and I’ll tell you how you rate in the romance department.

1. After my spouse cooks a delicious meal, I’m most likely to say:

a.Thank you, Sweetheart.  The food was extraordinary.

b.Do you know where the –BURP!- remote control is?

2. When your spouse talks about something good that happened at work, you’re more likely to say:

a. Honey, I’m proud of you.  I always knew you were smart and capable.

b. I smell the baby’s diaper.  Why don’t you prove your capability by changing it?

3. When you and your spouse have to be separated for more than one night, your parting words are:

a. I’ll be counting the hours until I see you again.  I’ll miss you and just remember, no one loves you like I do!

b. Tomorrow is trash day.  Don’t forget to carry it to the curb.  And don’t forget to take Junior to his t-ball game.  His uniform is in the dryer.  Don’t let him eat sugar.

4. After a relaxing dinner at home, you’re most likely to:

a. Stroll around the neighborhood holding hands and whispering romantic things in each other’s ears.

b. Sit in front of the tube drinking orange soda and wishing the kids hadn’t eaten all the Doritos.

5. You and your spouse dress up, get a babysitter, go out to eat, and have wonderful dates together:

a. every few weeks.

b. on anniversaries ending in the number “0.”

Romance.  Gosh darn it.  We all seem to get such a good start in this area and end up faltering somewhere in the “middle years.” Have any of you slipped into that obligatory morning/evening kissing pattern?  There’s nothing less romantic than the obligatory kiss.  Let’s be honest.  We’ve kissed our grandmas and puppies with more enthusiasm.

And don’t even think I’m focusing this blog post on men.  Women are equally at fault.  Men and women can easily get preoccupied and focused on things and people other than spouses.  Criticism can quickly become the primary mode of communication.  And let me be crystal clear.  Verbal criticism is death to romance.  Absolute death.

When Phil and I first married we lived in our own little world of romance.  We would go out to eat and shake our heads with pity at the couples who spent most of their time chewing or looking around.  We rejoiced that the horrid complacency we were witnessing was destined to never rear its ugly head in our unbelievably passionate and powerful union.  Yeah.  And we even used words like “unbelievably passionate and powerful union.”  I know.  It’s almost funny.  Years later, we believe the words “unbelievably passionate and powerful union” still apply.  We just sometimes get lazy.

We would never let our yard grow too high.  We would never forget to give children a meal.  But ironically, we sometimes forget to feed the romance in our marriage.  But it’s not too late for change, friend.

Kiss passionately every day.  Write love letters.  Have a lot more sex.  Schedule times for intimacy.  Serve each other.  Constantly.  Daily.  Don’t worry about what your spouse is doing.  Focus on your part.  The result?  You’ll be part of the romance revolution.  A revolution that honors God.  A revolution we desperately need.

For romance and laughter, check out my Doug and Carlie series, available in Kindle and paperback at the link below (And yes, there are a lot of FREE pages you can read of all 4 books at this Amazon link.  And I get it.  You love the word FREE.  I am with you, friend.  I am SO with you.):

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B074C76273/?ie=UTF8&crid=2NCYJG6PP4U66&keywords=doug%20and%20carlie%20series&qid=1563550251&ref_=sr_1_6&s=gateway&sprefix=doug%20and%20carlie%20series%2Caps%2C348&sr=8-6

I know.  Some of you are expecting this blog to be a tearful, poignant, and beautiful look at southern summers with all their glorious traditions.  Lightning bug catching in Aunt Lydia’s backyard.  Lemonade on the front porch.  Doing something, anything, “down by the creek.”  Fish fries at your Granddaddy’s house complete with homemade ice cream cranked out by Uncle George while he complained about local politics and young people’s lack of work ethic.  But I’ll save that kind of heartfelt nostalgia for the back page of “Southern Living” magazine.

I have a confession.  There’s only one time of year that I don’t really love being a southerner.  Summer.   It’s the excessive heat, the humidity, the mosquitoes, the sleeveless shirts.  OK.  It’s mostly the sleeveless shirts.  But the sleeveless shirts are a direct result of those other things, right?

I just can’t do sleeveless shirts.  I don’t have the necessary self-confidence.  I want to.  Oh friend, how I want to.  When it hits 98 degrees with a humidity of 117%, I desperately want to throw on a sleeveless shirt and feel good about it.  Proud even.  But no.

When it comes to sleeveless shirts, there are two things working against me.  No, I don’t mind talking about them.   The first thing is obvious to everyone.  I’m whiter than a piece of copy paper.  And I don’t mean the cream-colored paper that’s supposed to be easy on the eyes.  No.  I mean that stark white paper that’s a dollar cheaper because it causes blindness in infants and the elderly.  I’m whiter than that paper.  Seriously.  Parents have rushed to put sunglasses on their toddlers at the sight of my bare arms.  It’s embarrassing.

The second thing is that I’m jiggly.  You know, I have a lot of arm jiggle.  Your Aunt Bess had a lot of arm jiggle.  Remember?  You’d be working with her in the garden and she would enthusiastically raise her arm up and down to celebrate a particularly big zucchini squash.  And it was like a whole massive blob of white arm Jell-O was jumping up and down celebrating right along with her.  Oh, the memories.  The memories.  Yeah, I’m just like your Aunt Bess.  The sad thing?  I can’t even grow a decent zucchini squash.  Now you see why summer is so depressing for me.

I know.  Some of you successful, driven, Type A people are saying, “Lisa, just get some sun and lift some weights.  Tone those arms and stop complaining.”  You’re probably the same people who disinfect the shower every other day.   Let me guess, you got your online Masters degree while nursing twins and writing a Mediterranean cookbook.  Yeah.  I know your kind.  I respect you.  I do.  But I cannot be you.  If I could be you, I would have already grown a prize-winning zucchini squash.

Summer is here.  Sadly, I put away my tasteful and figure-flattering sweater sets.  But don’t worry.  Out of respect for small children and the elderly, I promise to wear summer clothing with some kind of sleeve…unless I’m mowing, weed eating, or gardening.  But don’t worry.  I do those things as often as I disinfect the shower.  Everyone’s summer is safe.

Before you race to the pool or water park, may I share a heartfelt confession?   I really don’t want to see your belly button.  I’m sorry.  I don’t want to see your belly button if you weigh 400 pounds.  I don’t want to see your belly button if you weigh 100 pounds.  There are just parts of the average American human that I don’t want to see unless we ran off to Vegas and got married.  Did we get married last night?  If not, I’d like to pass on seeing your belly button and other crevices beyond description.

The last time I went to a water park it was a bizarre experience in human behavior.  My, oh my.  People completely forgot their clothes.  I saw things that should only be seen in a horror movie.  By the end of the day, I felt like I had married half of Indiana.

Don’t get me wrong.  I have no problem with the average one-piece bathing suit.  I have no problem with shorts or tank tops.  I don’t even have a problem with a fat hairy man wearing a swim suit with no t-shirt (as long as it’s not a Speedo).   Oh friend, trust me,  I’m all about tolerance in the area of bodily imperfections.  SO, whether you’re school-glue-white and chubby or whether you’re tan and toned, in my book you are equally welcome to come to the water park and enjoy a day in the sun.

What did you say?  Oh, what’s my feeling on men who have a lot of hair on their backs?  Again, I take a broad-minded view of tolerance and openness.  Hairy-backed men or women with a lot of cellulite or children with dirty finger nails are all to be treated with kindness at the water park.  All are welcome, friend!

Just wear decent clothing.  That’s all I’m requesting.  Stop and think before you leave the house.  Look in the mirror and ask yourself a few pivotal questions.  Are ALL bodily crevices covered and/or contained by this swim suit?  When I jump in the water will all bodily crevices REMAIN covered and/or contained by this swim suit?

Whether you weigh 400 pounds or 100 pounds, your clothing choice shouldn’t make you the center of attention.  Are you wearing something that makes everyone drop their drink and say, “Lawsy, I’m glad my granny isn’t here to see THAT.”  Yeah.  Might want to re-consider being an offense to the grannies of the world.  I know.  Some people like being the center of attention.  They need to get over themselves and give the rest of us a visual break.

In summary, don’t wear a swim suit that’s too small.  Men, you should never wear a Speedo.  Yes, I said never.  What?  You say you work out two hours a day and you’re 22 years old?  Yeah.  Still no Speedo.  Sorry.   Women, save the graphic visual display for your honeymoon.  Leave some things to the imagination.  Never forget the “no crevices” rule.  OK.  My work here is done.  Happy rest of the summer!