When most men imagine living in a house full of women, I’m sure visions of the Playboy Mansion float through their heads. My husband is the lone male in a house of females, but it certainly isn’t the life of Hugh Hefner. His “bunnies” include one busy and bossy (almost) forty-year-old, one overly dramatic teenager, an emotional and hyper five-year-old, and a temperamental three-year-old. He says he never imagined he would live in a house with so many females and be forced to fight so hard for a hug and a kiss. The other day the three-year-old ran to me with panic in her voice and when I asked what was wrong, she replied, “Daddy almost kissed me,” as if it were an unfathomable tragedy.

The fickle world of females is a difficult obstacle course, but my husband seems to handle it fairly well. He listens patiently (or not so patiently) to at least one female per day express exactly how her life has been ruined. He occasionally walks in on a conversation that I’m sure is shocking, frightening, or even disgusting, and he simply turns and walks out of the room without even changing his facial expression. He hasn’t quite mastered the art of a ponytail, but he has been known to let his girls adorn him with necklaces, earrings, and even a purple boa. He is rarely lucky enough to catch a quick Sunday afternoon nap before someone decides the living room rug is a stage and the music volume should match concert magnitude.

For all of those moments where he easily handles being the sole man in a house of testy females, there are those moments where he draws the masculine line. One night while watching So You Think You Can Dance for perhaps the fiftieth time, he said, “The choreography wasn’t very strong, but they had good lines.” I looked at him with an amused expression, and he replied, “Ya’ll are turning me into a girl; we need to turn it to football.”

He is consistently astonished that girls can be so downright mean and yet have their feelings hurt so easily. He has also learned that they ignore him until he yells and then they cry because he has been so mean. It is a hard life for a man, so we try to spoil him with good food and back scratches. However, I think his favorite part of the day is when all of the talking, fussing, yelling, crying, dancing, and drama subsides after all of his girls go get their beauty sleep, and he has some peaceful time to watch football, re-runs of Mash, or anything on the military channel. He deserves it!

So, cheers to my husband: the modern man, the official spider killer, grass-cutter, trash-taker-outer, gas pumper, garage cleaner, kissy-monster, and tucker-inner. We are glad you embrace life in a house full of crazy chicks. Thanks for beginning each day with a clear understanding of how completely confusing we are and continuing to love us regardless.