This blog is dedicated to all the Daddies who have laid aside their machismo for the thrill of mastering the bulb syringe, explaining proper potty procedure, and finding the white leotard in time for somebody’s wee ballet class.  You are the best of the best.  Happy early Valentine’s Day.

OJ is a master of literally millions of things…you name it, he’s probably good at it.  Preaching, computers, games, OT trivia, painting cars, discipling kiddos, poetry (although it’s been awhile since he had leisure time for that…), and to top it off, he is a whiz in the kitchen!!!  Ask anyone who made the best fwamburger they ever had, and hands down it will be OJ, if they’ve ever had a fwamburger made by OJ.  Yep, there aren’t many things that OJ can’t master, but if I had to pick one, it might be best termed suave, pronounced with an “ay” sound at the end. OJ’s not super-duper suave.  He’s a man’s man.  He will never (thank God) be accused of being a metrosexual, asked to recommend a great dj, or given the Cosmo design award (if there is one).

Case in point:  I have bought OJ cologne in the past.  By “in the past” I mean, during our marriage.  I liked it okay, and it was not a big investment.  That would have been dumb.  To make a big investment, I mean.  Either because he might not have liked it, or because spending alot of money on men’s cologne is just dumb.  I do have an opinion on that, but I’ll respect your right to disagree.  Anyway, he never wore it.  I don’t think he ever thought to.  It just didn’t occur to him.

But having three kids by the age of thirty does funny things to you.  You realize, in your few coherent moments of non-child reality, that the aging process is going about 43 times faster than you think it’s supposed to.  This may happen while you are walking through the drug store.  Perhaps your youth flashes before your eyes as you accidentally catch a glimpse of yourself in the little reading glasses mirror.  And you think, “Who is that bedraggled person?  They need some sleep.”  Then you realize that it is you.  And you may quickly return to the task at hand (”Now where do they keep the pedialyte?”), or you may stand in front of the reading glasses display and think for a moment.  As you think, you may be singing along to the Classics playing over the radio.  Hopefully, not enough synapses are firing for you to realize that your high school songs are now on the “classics” station, and that is why you are singing along.  It would just be too much at one time.

Or, it could be that at that fateful moment, you catch a glimpse of a sporty yet mature figure beckoning to you to share in some of his manly magnetism from the nearby Old Spice kiosk.  I think that may be what happened to OJ.  Anyway, he came home that night with, you guessed it, that masculine equivalent of Jean Nate, that “Is that your grandpa that just walked by?” mysterious scent, the clean, classic Old Spice.

Now, I’m generally of the attitude that if my hubby likes it, then I like it.  Because I just like him…that much.  But I knew in that moment the whiff hit my brain, that if I acted excited about the Old Spice, it would be a downright farce, and totally immoral.  It was a marriage tester, that moment.  The stuff hit the fan, as it were.  I had to be honest.  “Is that Old Spice I smell?”  I won’t relate the painful moments after that.  I felt awful.  I wanted to like it, just for the sake of this manliest of men, my husband, a king in a world of guys…testing out the concept of cologne.  I wanted to encourage, bolster, and support, but I couldn’t.  I sought for words to heal his wounds.  But there were none.  Eventually, we just held each other.

This is getting kind of long.  The end of the funny story is that Ariel came into our bathroom this morning while I was getting ready for church.  She knocked some stuff over (it’s a tiny bathroom), and came across the O.S. in picking it up.  “Mmm…” she said.  “This smells good.”  Wow!  A chance to encourage OJ!  I was so glad someone could genuinely endorse his choice, in the innocence of youth!  I sent her off,  saying,

“That’s Daddy’s cologne!  Go tell him you like it!”    And listened to hear it go down.

“Daddy, your colon smells good!” I heard her yell as she hunts him down.  It was enough for OJ.  A minute later, he appeared…  “See?  Did you hear what Ariel said?”  He then offered some to her, for her special church toilette, at which I had to draw the line.  She was readily accepting, when I intervened.  “Please do not put Old Spice on my little girl.”  Words I never thought I would have to say, and hope to never say again.

All that to say, I think I may have a bead on the perfect gift for Valentine’s Day, for the most wonderful, handsome, extraordinary husband in the world.  I’ll be keeping my eyes peeled for the right sporty yet mature figure, advertising a scent that leaves a lasting impression.  Something that says, “If you like Football, you’ll love Pigskin.”  Or, “If you like Hot Wings, you’ll love Sizzlin’ Stix.”  Something that just yells, OJ!!! BUT NOT SIMPSON!!!  Yep, it’s out there, and I’m gonna find it.