Anyone who knows my husband even casually, will be laughing just from reading the title of this blog post. My husband is the last person on the planet anyone would call a metrosexual. He tends to wait as long as possible between haircuts, he owns T-shirts that are probably older than I am (I have sworn to never ever EVER throw them away), and he is pretty much rocking the absent minded professor, disheveled, I might be homeless look. I only say that because once we went to South Africa and met these wonderful people who had built their homes out of found objects and didn’t have running water or electricity. They were dressed beautifully. Their clothes were stain and wrinkle free. After five weeks of “roughing” it in hotels and hostels my hubby kind of looked like he had just escaped from a refugee camp, especially standing next to these amazing and stylishly dressed people.
So, why would I consider the possibility that he might be a metrosexual? Well, I am about to tell you. Every week I spend hours clipping and organizing coupons. I look through store ads and scope out all of the best deals. I’m not brand loyal. I’m discount my price loyal. So, I make lists of all the good deals and lists of what we need and I go out and buy stuff. I’m not like those coupon people you see on TV that get cart loads of stuff for free. I am way too lazy to devote that much time to couponing, but I can usually cut my grocery bill in half. Anyway, I stock us up on essentials every chance I get. My hubby, however, is very particular about his grooming supplies. He wants organic hand made soap and health store bath gel. His deodorants and toothpastes are free of everything and also taste and smell like exotic flavors from around the world. He buys expensive, hand picked, coffee beans from organic farms that claim to pay their workers fair wages. He purchases hand rolled chocolates and organic teas. He buys specialty foods that expire in the back of the cupboard because none of us know what they are or how to cook them. He eats the kind of peanut butter that requires you to bring your own jar because the peanuts are crushed right in front of you while you wait. Yeah, he is what you a call a little high maintenance, at least in comparison to me. I’ll eat almost anything, wash my hair with almost anything, and drink any and all coffee as long as it has caffeine. Yes, copious amounts of caffeine with extra caffeine on the side. Did I mention I love caffeine?
Then, there is the whole he takes way longer showers than I do and takes much longer to get ready to leave the house than I do. He’s particular about the clothes he wears and about the company that makes them. His shoes are top of the line and so are his underwear. I can purchase 12 pair of underwear for myself for the same price he pays for one pair. Doesn’t all of this prove that he is a metrosexual even though he doesn’t actually even slightly look like one? I’m not sure. I can’t really put him into a category, because he seems like he is his own category. I just don’t know what to call it yet. Maybe shabby chic metrosexual? I am sure there is a term for this behavior. Anyone out there have any suggestions?
|Maybe he’ll let me throw this one away as an early birthday present.|
*Disclaimer: No husbands were actually harmed in the writing of this blog post.