After All, He's Just A Man

I can't imagine its very easy for my wife to be married to a guy who loves metal.

There's no way that she enjoys hearing me deconstruct "Cowboys From Hell" for the eleventh time, or theorize how the Portuguese never would have made it across Copacabana Beach if only the locals had been marching to "Refuse/Resist" 500 years earlier.

She can't possibly like it when I play and replay the bridges from various songs off "Master of Puppets" to cement my argument that it is the greatest metal album of all time (and that nothing was ever the same after Cliff Burton died), or make her watch the crappy iPhone videos I made from last week's The Body/Assembly of Light choir show.

I sure don't think she anticipated my going ape shit and canceling any and all plans last week so that I could watch Lemmy when I randomly found it on TV.

But she's tolerant. I have to give her that. Now that I think about it, one of the first things we did as an engaged couple was to go see Lamb of God. Her first metal show, God bless her. With me.

In fact, there are these moments where I have to suspect that she may be more comfortable with my silly tastes than I am of my own. Witness this recent exchange:

WIFE: What shirt is that you're wearing?

ME: It's just an old concert tee.

WIFE: I've never seen if before. What concert?

ME: It's a Danzig tour shirt.

WIFE: I've never seen you wear it.

ME: That's because it's a Danzig tour shirt.

WIFE: The design is kind of cool.

ME: Yeah, but its a Danzig tour shirt.

Here I am in my Danzig tour shirt,
enjoying a delightful Spanish moscato.*

*Note: I don't believe that I've worn this shirt outside in the past ten years.

So, anyway, there you go. This one goes out to the people who accept us for who we are.