A Potential Book: Being Married To The Alpha Male
My husband is a true man’s man – a macho man. Physically, mentally, socially, emotionally, etc. And I wouldn’t have him any other way. He’s big and bulky and buff and gruff. He has a beard most men would envy. He makes grunts Tim Allen style and he may be convinced that a little snus has him turned into a sexual tyrannosaurus. When asked what he wants to eat, the answer typically is “meat.” He, and I quote, “[doesn’t] have to work out, [he gets] to work out.” Little bit Paul Bunyan, little bit Spartan, little bit Teddy Roosevelt, little bit Marlboro Man. From here on out, we can call him Macho Man. Every fiber of his being is characterized by testosterone – a bona fide, red-blooded, he-man. I’d like to think my feminine charm is some form of black magic antidote. Perhaps it is – at least in a small and sufficient enough way. Nonetheless, my black magic or otherwise, we make a great part...
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