Daddy crushes

Now that I'm back to higher learning courtesy of my online graduate class, I figure I ought to take a second and blog before I get really wrapped up in my studies and haven't any time.

So here is a little ditty I've been wanting to write about for awhile--daddy crushes.

The idea popped into my head when a friend emailed me a picture of her hubby, her very, very cute hubby. I have told her on more than one occasion how cute he is. I guess I have a wee little crush on him.

As a younger person, I would have thought that by nearly 36 years of age and happily married for nearly 12 years, I would be far beyond having crushes on guys, but apparently, I am not. I suspect lots of women (and men) have crushes.

After N's dance recital, my hubby mentioned enjoying the slinkalicious bodysuits many of the 17-year-old dancers wore for the ballet performance. As I was watching them dance from the balcony, where I sat with N, I knew, just knew, that D was thinking something along those lines. Because he's a horndog? Well, yes. And because he is human.

So knowing that he is imaging all kinds of perverted things about girls who aren't legal, I don't feel so bad having my little daddy crushes. They are only daddy crushes because all I ever meet anymore are the husbands of my mom friends. Sometimes I dig them because they are just plain good to look at. Sometimes it is because of how great they are with kids. I mentioned to D how appealing he is (wink, wink) when he's willingly playing with the kids and enjoying it. My daddy crushes sometimes even involve the daddy in this house. Anyone is fair game...except my brother. That's just gross.

I used to have crushes prior to becoming a mom. I won't name names but suffice it to say I worked in the same school as these gentlemen. Sometimes it was because they were handsome, sometimes because they were intellectually complex, sometimes because they were just "there." Sometimes it was a combination of all these.

And these crushes, at least for me, are harmless. In most cases, I rarely, if ever, see these men, or if I do they are with their wives and say, at most, "hi" to me. More importantly, I know where my bread is buttered. D might occasionally drive me bonkers, but I know we are strangely compatible. We somehow have managed to develop this quiet, relatively peaceful coexistence together.

I do wonder, though, if I will be doing this when I'm in the nursing home?