A Valentine to My Wife: Why I Am More In Love Than Any Man Who Has or Will Ever Live
Timothy Sexton
February 12, 2007
St. Valentine’s Day approacheth and while I intend to purchase for my wife an appropriate romantic offering, I also thought I would take a moment to express to the entire world—or at least that portion that reads my work here—how empty my life would be if I’d never met the woman who became my bride.
I have often expressed to her and others that I am absolutely, positively, 100% sure of only one decision in my life. If I had the chance to go back and live my life over again, there is only one decision that I would not hesitate over making and that’s the decision to ask this stunningly beautiful girl that I met in a theater out on a date. We met at the Pensacola Little Theater where I was acting and she was assistant directing a production of Veronica’s Room. I played a psychotic, necrophiliac killer. Despite the fact that she thought I was very believable in that role, she still agreed to go on a date. It was, without question, the greatest date in the history of the world. I had never felt so comfortable with a girl; never felt so much that this was the one for me. All we did that night was eat at an ice cream joint, see a movie and play a late game of Putt-Putt, but it wasn’t the actions that made the date so memorable, it was the feeling. (Of course, I must admit, I did truly enjoy allowing her to putt ahead of me!)
That night I went home knowing that I was going to marry that brunette. Which in itself was surprising since at the time I was in blonde mode. Weird how tastes change, as now if my wife said she was going to dye her hair blonde I’d hold a metaphorical gun to her head to stop her. Less than two months later we were engaged and less than a year after that first magical date we were married.
We’ve been married for over twenty years now and we still manage to create a gigantic fire-breathing green-eyed monster among friends by our sickening displays of public affection. Sometimes, in fact, my wife has to put the brakes on me; I love kissing her passionately in public places. In fact, I just love kissing her passionately. Kids today don’t get a chance to appreciate the pleasure of two-minute long kisses that make your toes curl and leave you dizzy. Their eagerness to jump right to the main event has created a generation that just doesn’t fully recognize the intense pleasures of simple kissing. My wife and I have never lost the ability to fully enjoy the act of deeply erotic lip action. In fact, I’m so turned on just thinking about kissing that I’m going to stop writing right now and give her nice, long, slowly, passionate kiss.
Sorry. I got carried away by trailing my kisses from her mouth to her neck. That’s another thing kids today don’t get. Neck-kissing is a stupendously enjoyable way to spend a good half hour. One of the reasons I love kissing my wife’s neck—heck, her entire body—is because I am so incredibly attracted to her pale white skin. You can keep your bronzed goddesses; for me, nothing is sexier than the flawless alabaster skin of my wife. No tan lines to ruin the line of the sweet fair skin. I also love her unplucked, unrazored eyebrows.
But my passionate love for my wife goes beyond the physical—though, to be perfectly honest, the physical attraction hasn’t lessened over the years, but only gotten more intense. I love my wife not only for her tremendously sexy body, but also for her tremendously sexy brain. Yes, she’s got a dirty mind, but I’m talking about her intelligence and humor. My wife is the funniest person I know…next to me. And she’s the smartest person I know…including me. She’s got a whole busload of common sense, but she’s also capable of far higher level critical thinking. She understands the world situation and how things work better than anyone in the Republican Party. Okay, I could say that about a tree stump, but you know what I mean. My wife has a phenomenal intellect and she’s quick-witted. She makes me laugh at least a dozen times a day, often at the very same time that’s turning me on.
She’s also a fantastic mother. Her protectiveness can at times seem extreme, but just ask the mother of Shawn Hornbeck is there is really any such thing. She’s not a perfect mother, just as she’s not a perfect wife, but the mistakes are few and pale in comparison to all the things she does right.
As a friend to others there is no comparison. If you make a friend of my wife, you can expect loyalty of the type equitable to a mother bear protecting her cubs. Your enemy becomes her enemy and there’s nothing she won’t do to help. If you cross her, however, consider yourself dead. My wife doesn’t truck with betrayal; especially if that betrayal is perpetrated against me or her children.
She’s also my best friend. So deep and complex is our friendship that, in all honestly, I have no other close friends. There are a variety of reasons for that, but the biggest is that I don’t need other friends. Everything I need in a friend, I have in my wife. If I need to discuss politics, I can do so with my wife. If I want to play a game, I can do so with my wife. And, of course, the best thing of all is that if I want to anything with best friend being nude, I can do so. (And, to be honest, I always prefer my best friend to be nude when discussing politics or playing games.)
Just in case you haven’t figured it out, yet, twenty-plus years has done absolutely nothing to diminish the truly astounding sexual attraction I feel toward my wife. Valentine’s Day is the one day out of the year set aside for the express purpose of forcing men to make romantic plans for their wives or girlfriends. The love I feel for my wife creates that Valentine’s Day feeling at least a good 100 or so days a year. Looking at her beautiful face and bodacious body compels me to make romantic plans throughout the year. This year, I wanted nothing more than to take her away for a romantic Valentine’s Weekend getaway at the Myrtles Plantation in Mississippi so that she can indulge in her ridiculous belief in the reality of ghostly apparitions. Unfortunately, the Myrtles are booked solid on the weekend until the summer. Of course, our anniversary is in late summer, so maybe…
I am often told that I should write a book of advice on how to romantically please a wife. I’m not sure I have any answers, however. I don’t know how to romantically please a woman; I know how to romantically please my wife. And that’s because our link together is a psychic one. I have no doubt in my mind that if my wife had been born halfway around the world, we would have found each other. We are in lockstep with each other: she is the yin to my yang, the Abbott to my Costello, the Marge to my Homer, the Jung to my Freud, the Holmes to my Watson. I not only can’t imagine my life without her, I wouldn’t want to try.
I am so incredibly, deeply, madly, truly in love with my wife that I often find myself wanting to shout it at the top of my lungs to the world around me. Unfortunately, on those occasions when I have done so, my wife gets embarrassed and asks me to stop. Well, this is my shout to the world that there is nobody on earth or in the history of the earth who has ever been in love more than me and she can’t stop me this time.
SKIPPER SEXTON: I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!
I have often expressed to her and others that I am absolutely, positively, 100% sure of only one decision in my life. If I had the chance to go back and live my life over again, there is only one decision that I would not hesitate over making and that’s the decision to ask this stunningly beautiful girl that I met in a theater out on a date. We met at the Pensacola Little Theater where I was acting and she was assistant directing a production of Veronica’s Room. I played a psychotic, necrophiliac killer. Despite the fact that she thought I was very believable in that role, she still agreed to go on a date. It was, without question, the greatest date in the history of the world. I had never felt so comfortable with a girl; never felt so much that this was the one for me. All we did that night was eat at an ice cream joint, see a movie and play a late game of Putt-Putt, but it wasn’t the actions that made the date so memorable, it was the feeling. (Of course, I must admit, I did truly enjoy allowing her to putt ahead of me!)
That night I went home knowing that I was going to marry that brunette. Which in itself was surprising since at the time I was in blonde mode. Weird how tastes change, as now if my wife said she was going to dye her hair blonde I’d hold a metaphorical gun to her head to stop her. Less than two months later we were engaged and less than a year after that first magical date we were married.
We’ve been married for over twenty years now and we still manage to create a gigantic fire-breathing green-eyed monster among friends by our sickening displays of public affection. Sometimes, in fact, my wife has to put the brakes on me; I love kissing her passionately in public places. In fact, I just love kissing her passionately. Kids today don’t get a chance to appreciate the pleasure of two-minute long kisses that make your toes curl and leave you dizzy. Their eagerness to jump right to the main event has created a generation that just doesn’t fully recognize the intense pleasures of simple kissing. My wife and I have never lost the ability to fully enjoy the act of deeply erotic lip action. In fact, I’m so turned on just thinking about kissing that I’m going to stop writing right now and give her nice, long, slowly, passionate kiss.
Sorry. I got carried away by trailing my kisses from her mouth to her neck. That’s another thing kids today don’t get. Neck-kissing is a stupendously enjoyable way to spend a good half hour. One of the reasons I love kissing my wife’s neck—heck, her entire body—is because I am so incredibly attracted to her pale white skin. You can keep your bronzed goddesses; for me, nothing is sexier than the flawless alabaster skin of my wife. No tan lines to ruin the line of the sweet fair skin. I also love her unplucked, unrazored eyebrows.
But my passionate love for my wife goes beyond the physical—though, to be perfectly honest, the physical attraction hasn’t lessened over the years, but only gotten more intense. I love my wife not only for her tremendously sexy body, but also for her tremendously sexy brain. Yes, she’s got a dirty mind, but I’m talking about her intelligence and humor. My wife is the funniest person I know…next to me. And she’s the smartest person I know…including me. She’s got a whole busload of common sense, but she’s also capable of far higher level critical thinking. She understands the world situation and how things work better than anyone in the Republican Party. Okay, I could say that about a tree stump, but you know what I mean. My wife has a phenomenal intellect and she’s quick-witted. She makes me laugh at least a dozen times a day, often at the very same time that’s turning me on.
She’s also a fantastic mother. Her protectiveness can at times seem extreme, but just ask the mother of Shawn Hornbeck is there is really any such thing. She’s not a perfect mother, just as she’s not a perfect wife, but the mistakes are few and pale in comparison to all the things she does right.
As a friend to others there is no comparison. If you make a friend of my wife, you can expect loyalty of the type equitable to a mother bear protecting her cubs. Your enemy becomes her enemy and there’s nothing she won’t do to help. If you cross her, however, consider yourself dead. My wife doesn’t truck with betrayal; especially if that betrayal is perpetrated against me or her children.
She’s also my best friend. So deep and complex is our friendship that, in all honestly, I have no other close friends. There are a variety of reasons for that, but the biggest is that I don’t need other friends. Everything I need in a friend, I have in my wife. If I need to discuss politics, I can do so with my wife. If I want to play a game, I can do so with my wife. And, of course, the best thing of all is that if I want to anything with best friend being nude, I can do so. (And, to be honest, I always prefer my best friend to be nude when discussing politics or playing games.)
Just in case you haven’t figured it out, yet, twenty-plus years has done absolutely nothing to diminish the truly astounding sexual attraction I feel toward my wife. Valentine’s Day is the one day out of the year set aside for the express purpose of forcing men to make romantic plans for their wives or girlfriends. The love I feel for my wife creates that Valentine’s Day feeling at least a good 100 or so days a year. Looking at her beautiful face and bodacious body compels me to make romantic plans throughout the year. This year, I wanted nothing more than to take her away for a romantic Valentine’s Weekend getaway at the Myrtles Plantation in Mississippi so that she can indulge in her ridiculous belief in the reality of ghostly apparitions. Unfortunately, the Myrtles are booked solid on the weekend until the summer. Of course, our anniversary is in late summer, so maybe…
I am often told that I should write a book of advice on how to romantically please a wife. I’m not sure I have any answers, however. I don’t know how to romantically please a woman; I know how to romantically please my wife. And that’s because our link together is a psychic one. I have no doubt in my mind that if my wife had been born halfway around the world, we would have found each other. We are in lockstep with each other: she is the yin to my yang, the Abbott to my Costello, the Marge to my Homer, the Jung to my Freud, the Holmes to my Watson. I not only can’t imagine my life without her, I wouldn’t want to try.
I am so incredibly, deeply, madly, truly in love with my wife that I often find myself wanting to shout it at the top of my lungs to the world around me. Unfortunately, on those occasions when I have done so, my wife gets embarrassed and asks me to stop. Well, this is my shout to the world that there is nobody on earth or in the history of the earth who has ever been in love more than me and she can’t stop me this time.
SKIPPER SEXTON: I LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!
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