Model Behaviour

[Note: This post was originally published on The Mrs on May 12th, 2012. I have since created this board on Pinterest, and—thanks to the help of a friend (hi, Scott!)—discovered Caleb's real name is Aaron O'Connell. But I still call him Caleb...]

Confession: I have a problem.

And no, I’m not talking about this board for those Pinterest followers keeping score at home.

[Note: I have no other explanation for that phenomenon other that what’s on the board description, so... don’t hold your breath waiting for one... unless you’re into that. Heh.]

But no, not that. I’m actually talking about this, uh, I mean him —

You might be wondering who this is. If you know me on Facebook, perhaps not. Mr Lannis certainly knows.

Allow me to introduce you to Caleb.

No, that’s not his real name. I made it up. I tend to do that, occasionally, name things — kidlets, characters, fabricated identities of random Marks Work Wearhouse flyer models... all of the above, really. Heh.

And Caleb, well, he caught my eye one day in the aforementioned flyer, because he looked exactly like someone I know. In my head.

Yeah, if that didn’t sound strange, stick around, because I’m sure we’ll hit that mark shortly. I’m about to expound upon one of the many idiosyncrasies of my marriage. [Insert shameless snort here.]

Ready... set... weird!

In our house I we have a little tradition. Every Thursday the local paper arrives with the sales flyers for the week. Mr Lannis is the one who goes through said flyers.

And hides one in particular. The one from Marks Work Wearhouse.

For this reason:

(Click to embiggen.)

Note: this particular status update had an interesting and incriminating conversation beneath it, but in the interests of privacy we’re going to nix that part of the screenshot. Let’s just say a friend of mine declared that Caleb must be an excellent kisser due to his scrumptious almost-dimples, interested parties went running for their recycling bins, and for the benefit of those outside of the geographical range of this particular advertisement, I ended up uploading a pic of the flyer page in question...

That’d be this one:

You see, I lick like this particular model. A lot. And he’s caused a bit of a stir on my Facebook profile recently, so I’m sharing more... because I’m filterless gross friendly like that.

He was in the most recent flyer, too:

WHO WANTS TO GO ON A SHOPPING SPREE WITH ME?!

I mean, LOOK at him...

The first person to imply he’s wearing a less-than-politically-correct undershirt wins a screwdriver stabbed in their ear canal! Aaaaaand go!

Ah, I see you’re all distracted by the charming tilt of his jaw and the alpha-male confidence radiating off those biceps.

Me too. And those lips:

::sigh:: Please excuse me as I wipe away the drool...

I read somewhere [::cough cough:: Pinterest ::cough::] that infatuation only lasts a few months, so clearly I am in love with Caleb, because we’ve now been involved for over a year.

And last fall this happened:

This is the note I left Mr Lannis one evening when he was working late... it reads, “He wants me to run away with him. I said yes.”

The next morning I was greeted with Mr Lannis’ reply on the facing page. He charmingly called me a couple of dirty inapproriate CREATIVE pet names, and claimed that he told Caleb about my body pillow.

Yes, my body pillow.

The one I have snuggled and twined myself with every night since pregnancy made my hips ache? For years Mr Lannis has called it my boyfriend, and in the last year or so my body pillow boyfriend has had a new name — you guessed it — also Caleb.

Caleb’s fictional apparent response was to be sickened. This I doubt. Clearly he’s into me. Just look at the way he stares dreamily out of the page. At me.

But back to my bizarre marriage... Mr Lannis is a wonderful man, and he tends to be rather... quiet.

People frequently call him normal.

(Pfft... like that word really has any true definition?)

More than once I’ve heard (I’m outing you, Mrs... haha!) that Mr Lannis is not who people “expect” me to be with — possibly because he’s, well, sane.

The point is, he balances my... uh... deranged personality wackiness. He likes to humour me.

The truth is... he gets me.

And that morning when I woke up and found his angular scrawl all over a flyer’s boxer brief advertisement (yes, he scribbled the word “SL*T” on a random photo of some stranger’s junk — IT. WAS. AWESOME!), I felt more warm, lovable fuzzies toward my hubby because he was playing along with my threat of running away with a fictional heartthrob than I would have if he’d simply written “I love you.”

It may seem dysfunctional, but it’s not. It’s our marriage. I don’t claim to understand it, I just love it — and him — to pieces.

Uh, Mr Lannis, that is. Not Caleb...

Okay, Caleb too.

Hm. Polyamory doesn’t sound too shabby right about now... something-something-don’t-knock-it... am I right? Heh.


PS: If you’ve been able to follow this post, like, AT ALL, please feel free to use your Google-fu for the good of all and find out what Caleb’s real name is. I’m sure he’d love to hear from me. I vote we start a fan club.

Pssst: I wager he tastes way better in person... ::snort::