Mr Starky is a big lad. He’s about 5,10 or so but is 17 stone. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but I’m 5,2 and about 9 stone (on a good day) so he’s approximately twice my weight. In addition to this, he’s a body builder. So he’s muscley as balls! Which is fine, except for when he forgets.
He’s a gentle soul, very affectionate and sensitive. Which, given that I’ve seen people cross over the road when they see him coming, doesn’t really make sense. But he is as wide in the shoulders as he is loving and kind. And I’m grateful.
I’m less tactile, other than when I’m in New Look when apparently “you need to touch EVERYTHING! Why do you need to touch everything Starky?!” (Because, for reasons, dear husband!)
However, Mr Starky forgets he is not a dainty morsel of a person, he’s a three course meal with coffee and cheese plate after. He does not know his own strength, and I’ve fallen foul of this a few times.
Once, he came in for a kiss, swooped at an angle, and headbutted me full in the face. He went to work mortified while I waved him off with my eyes watering and a hanky shoved up my nose to stem the flow of dripping claret. I rang my Mum and she had to put the phone down on me she was laughing so much!
He’s winded me more than once with nightime boxing. Being the flaily bugger that he is, he turned over and with the force of a hulk fist, aimed a perfect body shot into my lovely soft mid section. It’s no joke being winded in your sleep, I woke up thinking I’d been assassinated by a nocturnal ninja!
Another night he must have been having funny dreams because he was mumbling away and being all twitchy. By this point in our relationship, i knew it was better to gently extracate myself from bed to avoid a sleepy pasting.
So, i went and got a cup of tea and a biscuit. By the time I returned, brew and wagon wheel in hand (the jammy ones, I don’t mess about when it comes to biscuits, me) he seemed to have settled a bit, so rather than being cold and sitting downstairs, I thought I’d get back into bed and read for a bit with my tea, lazy Sunday morning style (except it was about 5 am on a Tuesday).
I vampired myself into the duvet with barely a sound, he didn’t move. Picked up my book, nestled in and Bang, out shot Thor’s hammer, straight into my thigh…. Dead leg. Now when you’re nine and your cousin gives you a dead leg, you go and tell your Grandma. I had nobody to limp off to and grass him up!
He shut my fingers in the car door once when he knocked it slightly and it slammed shut. I’m not an over dramatic person (absolute lies) but I thought my hand had been severed! I howled the mating song of a banshee. A cat came and sat on the garden wall and looked at me funny (we were parked on our drive). I ended up with one slightly pink finger! So I didn’t even have anything to show for it! Which was even more distressing!
He’s given me a fat lip when he was hoovering the stairs with earphones in and I tapped him and made him jump. That one wasn’t so bad, but only because it was so funny! If you’ve never seen a grown man sashaying his hips and singing along to The Bangles, I can recommend it. I lean back limbo style and poke him with the end of a clothes hanger now to avoid a repeat. (He nearly fell down the stairs, just desserts? I think so!)
I could go on (I usually do!) But my point is, he’s got the spacial awareness of a bumble bee! He’s so careful so much of the time, that when he’s not, he’s horrified! He tries his best, but accidental injuries happen, and I’ll probably sustain many more over the years.
I suggested we do ballroom dancing thinking he’d tell me to kiss his arse, but he surprisingly seemed quite into the idea. As he sees it “I was a boxer, I’m good at dancing, I’m very light on my feet!” Whether he’s actually light on his feet will remain to be seen but I’m pretty sure he won’t be light on mine! (I can just see him in a sparkly shirt and shiny shoes though! The man thinks he’s Patrick Swayze.)