My husband came home for lunch today. It's a blessing that he is close enough and has the freedom to do that. It isn't usually anything exciting; usually leftovers or if there are none of those, a peanut butter sandwich. I think he does it to watch Star Trek for a while.
Today, while he was here he asked me to proofread a post he's written for the currently-on-sabbatical Calvinist Gadfly. In the post, he mentions an anecdote which I've heard before. It's really funny, and whenever that post gets around to being posted, I'll link it here. You'll laugh at it.
While I was proofreading, my huband began dancing. He does that sometimes. He knows it irks me. I told him that what he was doing wasn't much of a turn on, to which he replied that the dog was enjoying the dancing. Who am I interfere with a dog's enjoyment of her master's dancing technique?
My husband isn't shy about dancing in front of the kids' friends, either. The kids and I groan about it, but the friends inevitably say their dad does it, too, and they laugh. My husband also wears socks and sandals, and while the kids roll their eyes, they tolerate it. Our son's girlfriend, who is very much like our daughter, objects to this at times. The dancing she thinks is funny, just like my husband's sad attempts to say French words at the dinner table: "Please passé the salt." The socks, she draws a line at. I have no problem with his socks and sandals provided I am not his escort while he's doing it.
My husband has no shame in doing things that I would never do in public. They aren't obscene or illegal, they are just silly. He has the valuable quality of not taking himself so seriously. He can laugh at himself. Now, this of course can be taken to an extreme, and there are times when I do think he needs to be careful how he seems to others, but by and large, he doesn't mind laughing at himself.
I wish I was better at laughing at myself. I think we all need to take ourselves less seriously. We're one person among billions, why do we assume everyone is concerned about what we're doing? And if we do look silly now and then, why do we care about what strangers think of us? I'm at the point where I don't mind living dangerously by going out without makeup on, but I'm still fairly conscious of looking stupid, so that's about as daring as I get. I haven't gone to the grocery store in my flannel pajama pants as of yet.
And I'm thinking that I won't be shakin' that thang with my Beagle in front of others any time soon, but you never know.