Hollywood and Victoria’s Secret told me what’s sexy. Lacy underwear and big boobs. My husband had to switch my thinking about that.
He explained it to me this way. “I want to be able to touch you and hug you. And lace is so scabby, like a sore. I don’t want to touch that.”
He thinks I’m so beautiful when, in the morning, I still have sleep in my eyes and messy hair. He says it’s because I look so vulnerable and soft. And he finds that amazingly attractive. When I’m in a t-shirt or tank top, I can’t get him to leave me alone.
Society tries to teach us that “THIS” is what is universally attractive or sexy. But that’s not true. My husband likes it when I wear t-shirts or tank tops because it was what I wore, most of the time, when we were dating. It’s the style of clothing he associates with me. And he loves me. No model with big boobs ever stepped out of a poster and held him when he was discouraged. Or prayed for him through storms. Or heard his deepest darkest secrets and loved him anyway. Or made him a sandwich at midnight. Or any of the other thousands of reasons he loves me.
I did. And I’m the same way. I love seeing his face, because it reminds me of years of encouragement and selfless giving. It reminds me of the man who, when we were dating, told me to chase God, regardless of if it meant time away from us. It reminds me of all the dreams he helped me realize. It reminds me of the man who stood strong and saved himself for marriage, who dreamed about his wedding and honeymoon. It reminds me of the compassion I’ve seen in his eyes for the helpless, for hurting children, for the homeless.
He is Matt. And I find that INCREDIBLY attractive.