Pretty in Pink Dirt

I think for the most part I'm pretty good at getting my hands dirty, getting sweaty, catching bugs, and playing sports. But my deep down self is well, lack of a better word, girly. I would be so happy to spend the day getting pampered, nails painted, relaxing massages, sparkling water in a dainty little glass.
I like having my hair in place, my outfits accessorized, my purses organized, and lip gloss handy. And here I am, all pink and girly, surrounded by three testosterone driven males. My days are filled scrubbing dirt from every nook and cranny, washing scrapes and cuts that he hardly notices, wild tackling and wrestling matches, and whooping and hollering down the hall.
These wild and crazy men make everything a competition, they preform feats of strength, they fight to the finish, and they conquer their foes. They make weapons from anything lying around, and win every battle. And even though there is no one in this house who shares my love of being pampered and polished, prissy and in pink, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I have three men who adore my cooking, who appreciate their cleaned and ironed clothes, who need my care and nurturing when they are sick or down, and love the feminine attention I pour on their imaginary and real achievements. I don't think there's a better feeling in the world than to know I have three men who are there to protect me and take care of me. So I gladly will trade my manicure in for dirt under my nails as I make dirt bombs in the yard with my boys.