My husband has a very high opinion of me. No matter how I’m feeling, he tells me that I am the funniest, cutest, most talented and driven person he knows.
I can’t tell you how much that is starting to piss me off.
It’s a lot of pressure, people. He’s all, “Tell me about your day! Look at how pretty you are! Boy, supper smells delicious and by the way, I can’t wait for you to finish writing your book!” WTH?! Dude. I just want to lay here and watch Friends, alright? No talky. No adding stress to my evening by implying there should be some sort of productivity. No productivity after 7:00 PM, I say!
But noooooo. Last night he passed my handy dandy Insanity workout calendar and noted that I’ve completed 10 days of the program.
“Wow, hon! I can’t believe you’re able to do this every day! That’s amazing!”
Ironically, at that exact moment, I was thinking that it probably would be okay if I skipped today’s “Cardio Recovery” workout because a) its recovery, so its not like I’m missing any of the crazy hard workouts and also, b) “recovery” means thirty straight minutes of squats and my poor little legs feel like jello already. It’s like he can read my mind and is just messing with me.

It hurts.
“Yeah, I was thinking I might just skip tomorrow’s strengthening workout and go for a run.” I suggested in a small voice. 
“Oh, NO.” Hubby said, scandalized. “Then you’ll be off schedule.”
Listen, it is absolutely fabulous to have someone who holds an image of me that is so, very much better than what I know myself to be. In here. In my head. In my head all I want to do is send the kids off to school, call in sick and lie in the basement, watching Thin Man movies and ladling butterscotch pudding directly from the mixing bowl into my face. I could do it too, if it weren’t for the crushing guilt I’d feel when Hubby bikes home from work, all tired from working his tail off and asks me how my day went, clearly expecting an answer other than, “Great! I haven’t moved ten feet since this morning!”
Sounds like heaven, except I’d have to give up any claim to that energetic, productive, “go get ’em” gal he thinks he married. So it looks like I will be doing that Cardio Recovery workout after all. Maybe I’ll even slide a run in there…Apparently, I have a reputation to protect.
The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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