The Power of the Ellipsis

He Really Does Love What He Sees

I see him watching me as I put on my makeup. He has that look in his eyes. I glance up at him watching me. What?

He’s not wearing his beer goggles, so what does he see? Who does he see? Does he see somebody else? I dare not look over my shoulder to see whether he is staring at the bags hanging behind me in the closet. It’s obvious that’s not where he’s looking. He’s looking at me. He’s watching me. Why?

Doesn’t he see? Doesn’t he see the same thing I see when I look in the mirror? An aging woman, quite a bit flabbier than the “younger” self I was over a decade ago. Picked up a bit more baggage along the way over the past couple of years.

Must have been that five-month stay in Alaska over Christmas when we woke up to eat then went back to bed and had a lot of sex before sleeping for the three hours of daylight then got up, ate some more, walked around a bit in the snow, then went back to bed for more sex and sleep. Repeat for five days. Good times.

That explains it. It’s just winter weight. It’s okay, babe, you’ll get it off by summer. I sure as hell hope so because I bought several new swimsuits for our pool last summer. They were smaller than all the ones I had before and I already got rid of the bigger ones… I even have pictures to prove it! It’s amazing how much changes in a year.

Doesn’t he see the extra wrinkles on my face and neck? My even newer cankles? I have always been short but I had beautiful muscular legs. I wonder how much longer before there’s no definition between my cankle and my calf? Doesn’t he see the dark circles under my eyes? The “sun” spots on my once almost blemish-free face? Skin correcting cream can only correct so much. It can’t erase a decade off my cheeks.

Why does he keep wanting to take pictures of me? I’ve wished for years for this to come back! Him taking candids of me while in bed. When we walk in the door. Unsolicited. Random. While I’m in the shower. Anytime. This is what I’ve dreamt of for so long! Just like the movies. The couples in love playing under the sheets and the guy admiring her beauty, taking pictures of it. For every woman in the world to want their men to do.

But I’m no movie star.

I don’t look cute when I wake up in the morning. My work now is writing and keeping the house in order. I have one girlfriend and that’s off and on. I go days without showering. Even longer without washing my hair. Oh and the hair! He doesn’t see all that white at my roots? It’s about to become unmanageable before I guess I just have to accept it? I’m not in denial. I simply don’t want gray hair. Geesh.

How can he look at me that way while I look at myself differently in the same mirror? What am I missing? What does he see that I don’t? Or is it that he doesn’t see that I do?

It is the lucky woman to find her man watching her in adoration as she puts her face on for the rest of the world when he’s been seeing what’s really underneath for weeks. To have someone find you so goddamn sexy in your too small panties with the muffin top. To not notice those extra pounds. To still sacrifice food and sleep to be inside you. To appreciate that extra baggage when he’s eagerly moving you on top of him. Like we haven’t aged at all. If I close my eyes, I’m 32 again.

He sees something I don’t, but he likes what he sees so I guess I can keep pretending that I’m flabbier and older and grayer and wrinklier. If that’s how he likes me. I should be able to do that for a while. Looking at it that way, it can only get better.

I am a very lucky woman. I hope you are, too.

Thank you for reading!