Confession

"I have to tell you something." That's how I started our meal. I was sitting across the table from my husband while eating a warm piece of bread. Our daughter was playing with dough.

"You might not like it," I said.

"I'm going to watch the Country Music Awards. I might even buy a Carrie Underwood CD. I'm almost 40. I even like the God songs."

"You can do whatever you want," he said which was cute as we both already know that much.

"But will you think less of me?" is the question.

"No, no..." he lied. "Some of it can be good."

Oh sure, I tried to spin it and explain how it's like poetry and it's dramatic and packs a punch in a short amount of time. I said it's like reading the paper or watching a soap opera - high drama, clear words and strong emotion. O.k., so maybe I only reat the obits. But still... I love a good story and I'm gonna be 40 and I'm not going to hide it any longer.

I think our relationship can survive this. I love a man who watches grown men in helmets bash heads, jump all over each other and do funny dances in the end zone for catching a football. I don't say anything when he stands two inches in front of the t.v. pacing and chewing his nails to nothing over these total overpaid strangers. Nope. It's a live and let live house.

"You got to know when to hold em, know when to fold em..." I'm not saying sorry, changing the station or denying what I did on Monday night when the CMA show was on.