Ten Feet From An Alligator

For the last couple of years, every time Andrew and I are in the car together for an extended period of time he instructs, "Keep your eye out for alligators." He's fascinated with the idea of catching them in their natural environment, you know, Ocean Boulevard or South Beach or strutting down Las Olas with a well groomed poodle led by a crystal encrusted leash in a blush hue.

"ARE YOU WATCHING? IT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE YOU'RE WATCHING?" he'd always end up saying. When I was single, I never imagined that my future husband would take such an interest in scoping out a set of jaws could literally swallow me whole, and for that exact reason I may have accidentally missed a few sitings on one or two of our road trips. So I was fifty percent happy that he got his fill today while golfing, and fifty percent concerned that the next time such an occasion arises he's going to think of it as another golf course photo opportunity not unlike the pictures that he managed to score alongside The Great Greg Norman last year. Except Greg Norman didn't have him for lunch.



Before I go, I also have to share Andrew's reaction to this post, because it leaves me wanting to tattoo, "I'm with him," across my abdominals while I'm still youthful enough to sport a six pack that he can be proud of, or at the very least give him his fair share of the covers tonight.

(This is why I forgive him for leaving the dresser drawers open every, single morning.)

Me: You have girls that you're friends with. You can understand, right?

Andrew: I mean, I miss my relationships with my guy buddies more than I miss my relationships with any girls.

Silence.

Andrew: I've got the only female that matters in my life with me.

Me: Awww. Awwwwww.

Silence.

Me: I'm posting that. Now you're going to get love letters through the blog.

Andrew: All of the rest of the ladies can suck it.

And that's all a girl can really ask for, isn't it? If I think about it, I actually don't mind being on Alligator Watch so much.