My husband is at Hot Yoga right now. I never thought I’d say that sentence but there it is. It’s out in the open and I will not run from it.
When he broke the news to me, I initially thought he was joining to check out the young ladies in their skin-tight attire. Yoga pants are sexy. I can appreciate that at least. My husband doesn’t enjoy heat. He cries when it’s 85 degrees out and he has to mow the lawn, threatening to get physically ill because of the temperature. If I had a nickel for every time he exclaimed “I’m going to barf because I’m so hot”, I’d have about five extra dollars in my pocket. Yet, he is paying his earned money to stretch and pose in a 100 degree room? I have a hard time understanding.
I should just be done wasting my energy trying to figure him out. Like a 1000 piece puzzle with extra pieces, he really can be more than I bargained for. I don’t want to say he has problems because he is fine with the kind of person he is. But the guy definitely makes me question his motivation for certain tasks and behaviors.
My husband, a guy who some of my friends find intimidating or lacking the desire to communicate, loves to offer his written online opinion of the establishments we visit, a past-time that just doesn’t jive with his image. He is the #1 reviewer in our area on TripAdvisor, a title he competes for on a daily basis, having went as far as leaving his reviews on places like Taco Johns and the local gas station. He receives emails several times daily from TripAdvisor, notifying him of his status and likes. When we travel, he bookmarks the restaurants and hotels we spend our money with so he can offer his advice to future travelers. He is constantly searching the best places to dine and stay, taking strangers opinions and untrusted information for factual data. We do not eat at restaurants rated #20 or higher. We only stay at a certain chain of hotels. It’s his thing, his badge. His blue ribbon.
He doesn’t care about what other people think of him, but he does care about what other people have to say about Ruby Tuesdays.
He is also the type of person who attempts to make eye contact while passing other drivers on the road. We’ve all been there, sitting at the stop light, feeling someone watching us from the next lane over. It’s not a comfortable feeling. Jason will turn his head completely to his left side and stare. I’ve witnessed him stare down an 85-year-old man. He doesn’t care that he’s a creep. He claims he just wants to be aware of his surroundings.
I claim he’s a freak show.
My opinion is now tighter than ever, knowing that he’s at Hot Yoga and will soon get in his vehicle to drive home, his sweaty skin sticking to the seatback of his pickup, staring at everyone he passes by, only to come home to his I-Pad and post a review of his experience this morning on TripAdvisor.
Still, I love him. But if he joins Water Zumba, I’m out.