except

Nothing to write about
except
that my husband
Spencer
is not a dirtbag.
I told him it was a compliment,
that I said that.
Dirt bag
dirt bag
dirt bag.
MMmmm, makes me hot,
just thinking about a guy who could give a shit,
who showers less than once a day
who is wonderful and marvelous
and under appreciated by a society of
Gucci-Glam-Gorgeous
guys
who wear loafers
and couldn't survive in the woods for one
second
while Spencer,
who really is a dirt-bag hero,
Kung-foo kills a vicious micro biotic malady with his pocket-sized water filter
quenches his thirst and then
fights off a bear
with his hands
and then cracks a beer and a smile
popping up his two-person dome tent
as the sun sets
the sky turns pink
and the rocks glow
all around
he waits for the girl of his dreams to walk right into his life/
tent

which she does

and she always takes off her shoes before she crawls in

because even dirt-bags
have some standards
to live by

usually quite high
and mighty
and completely different
than what you might think