My "good works" of yesterday did not balance out my "make fun of Husband and his whiny self" while he was sick this week. I have now got his creeping crud.
Karma = 1. Me = making friends with the toilet. Well played universe. Well played. On a related note: our tiny pink master bathroom is hideous.
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In our county in Tennessee you have to get your car checked for emissions every year. Imagine that Californians, every year! I used to bitch and moan about having to do it every four. Anyway, it’s 25deg right now so I’m off to attempt to get Husband’s car done before he needs to go to work. Odds are good he’ll be driving my Smart on the icy roads but I’m trying to be nice and help him out here.
Okay, I’m really making it so he has nothing to distract him from finishing the kitchen and the den but let's pretend I’m just being a good and helpful wife. Have a productive and chocolate filled Thursday all. I plan to. Now, if I could just stay of the internet... In the half an hour that I’ve been awake I have already:
1. Thrown the dog out of the house four times. 2. Screamed at her a five thousand times and cursed her whiny self a million more. 3. Stomped out to take out the garbage in my nightclothes. Realized it was 30deg and way too cold to be outside in nightclothes. Stomped harder and faster on the way back in. 4. Tried to lie out cardboard on the floors for the countertop delivery today while cussing the dog who was Chewbacca pacing everywhere I wanted to be walking. 5. Threw her out of the house again. 6. Quit my attempt to save the floor and tried to take a shower, nearly slipped on the almond oil I’d slathered all over my stupid head last night in an attempt to give myself a hot oil treatment. 7. Attempted to clean the tub while wrapped in a wet towel. 8. And gave up. 9. Tried making a cup of tea but every step of that process was complicated by the miles I had to travel to get each and every thing so I quit and - 10. Came into the office, a cloud of cursing doom and tried to write about the insurance company, which put me in an even grumpier mood. BLERG! I resemble that cartoon I saw years ago where the Daddy Bear turns bright red when he’s angry, steam coming out of his ears. I am currently red. Don’t know about the ears. Then Daddy Bear is supposed to think of ten happy things while he counts down from ten to bring his anger level down from red to bear color again. I don't know about getting back to bear color but it's worth a shot. Here are my ten: 1. Owl. Spotting him/her in his/her tree. Hearing him/her sing, “Who cooks for you.” in the middle of a storm. Watching him/her fly. 2. Slipping into bed when the heated mattress is on and its pissing down outside. 3. A Peppermint Mocha, full of sugar and fat and caffeine. 4. When a toddler sees me and crawls into my lap for some loving. 5. When I make a new friend here in Nashville. 6. A good book, a chair in the sun and nothing but time. 7. Husband and his take on the world. 8. When a friend texts me, randomly in the middle of my day. 9. A bowl of vanilla bean ice cream and a bowl of kettle chips together while watching some silly trash TV. 10. When I’m in bed, all warm and snuggled in and Husband is playing and singing in the other room and it’s like being sung to sleep. Not sure I'm bear color now but, my hair is shiny and I like the dog again. For now. Morning. I am slowly awake. Head is fuzzy. I slip in and out of a dream, reality hovering around the edges of a moment I can no longer quite see. Dammit.
I finally pry one eye open and lift my head, angling my neck so that I can see the alarm. I should get up. 6:11am. I should get up. I drop my head back into the pillow and close the eye. And fall into a shallow sleep, all the while telling myself I should get up. I should. Get up. Sometime later, take a breath in, lift my head and open eye again. 6:23am. I should get up. I open the other eye and focus as best as I can on the blur that is the window. The shade is down. I can tell that it’s light outside but not if it’s raining. Or snowing. Or cold. I run through the list of things that I have to do today. I try to make them sound exiting. I know I’m lying. I close my eyes. The dog whines in her crate and shifts so her tail hits the bars. Cla - clang cla-clang. Both eyes open. I have to get up. I can’t fight this battle with myself anymore. I shift my leg so it’s outside the warmth of the quilt. Not too cold. I move my left arm from where it’s been pressed under my face and throw the quilt back. The sudden change in temperature is a shock to the skin. The last of the fuzz clears from my brain. Sort of. I am awake. Sort of. And yet, I don’t move. I have to get up but I stay stuck in my half yoga pose, legs akimbo, left arm spread across the open quilt, body in a twist, eyes now staring at the blurredly at the ceiling. I breathe in. I breathe out. I don’t move. I have to get up and I don’t move. I am a dead body. The dog stands in her crate. The clanging gets progressively louder, matching her whine in volume and in pitch. I roll my body forward, push my left hand against the mattress and push myself upright. And close my eyes. Everything hurts. My back protests the fall from the tree in my twenties, the fall from the stage in my teens, the large rocks I tired to dig up on Saturday. My arms aren’t happy about the rocks either. I reach down and grab my sweater and, after a moment of stupidly hunting the for the tag, I throw it over my head, tag safely at the back of my neck, arms hunting for arm holes all the while screaming at me. Sweater on, I stand and shuffle my feet onto the slippers, hoping that a brown recuse spider has not taken up residence in them overnight, too sore to bend down and shake them first. I make my way across the room to Husband’s side of the bed, lean over and kiss his forehead. He’s requested this routine of affection even though he’s asleep every time. Even though I often misjudge the distance as I bend down and the kiss ends up not as gentle as he’d like. It would help if I’d remembered to put on my glasses. I haven’t. I shuffle over and unlock the dog crate, blocking Tigger the Dog’s attempt to kiss husband too. In what has become our morning dance, I herd her like a sheep towards the door, her Chewbacca whine not at all muffled by the three ‘babies’ in her mouth. Fumbling with the lock, I manage to open it, swinging it wide enough for the two of us to exit as I grab my glasses off my nightstand, turning to close the door behind me. I am up. I really I wish I wasn’t. We had dinner with a lovely couple on Saturday. It was our first couple date in a while and I was excited. I liked her. She liked me. He liked Husband. Husband liked him. We liked each other’s partners. Odds were good this wouldn’t be a one-time thing. I was excited.
Finding a couple that Husband likes and is willing to spend time with is like finding a house he can eat in – pretty non-existent. We’ve found couples before, even here in Nashville, but schedules being what they are, our second dates are slow in coming. Or it’s us. I choose to believe it’s a schedule thing or I’m going to have to stay in a ball crying… Anyway, Saturday night, we were going to do dinner and then go back to their house for a tour of their DIY projects and some wine. In the car on the way to the restaurant, I was chatting away, nervous about the night when Husband said to me – HUSBAND: What are you going to do when we get to their house, and they meet us at the front door with a glass of wine and both of them are naked? Now, I laughed. Of course I laughed. It’s quite an image – the look on our faces if that was to happen. But then I got mad. Husband ALWAYS does stuff like this. Like saying inappropriate things about his father and my mother getting “it on” right before we are scheduled to have a big family dinner with them. Or suggesting the dopey guy in the bar is making eyes at me so I get all stupid and defensive when he asks me about my day. Or like years ago, when we were invited by the neighbors to dinner. The neighbors who lived just down the street from us and had met husband while walking one day and invited us to join them and another couple for a meal. The dinner date I was excited about until husband asked - HUSBAND: What if they are swingers and they meet us at the door with a bowl full of keys? I laughed then too but, a month later, a month of Husband making jokes about naked parties and orgies with the min-van set, I was a wreck. How big of a wreck? Well, let’s just say, I didn’t bring any keys to the party and all my bits and bobs were tastefully and thoroughly covered despite the fact that it was 80degs and I was overheating. And that when they met us at the door, I checked out the other couples to make sure there was no leering or winking or some sort of sign before I left the safety of the front door and sat down. And that I was even more relieved when I saw the other couple had brought their children with them. Not that I thought Husband was going to be right – just very glad he wasn’t. In fact, it turned out to be a very nice dinner. They were charming. We were charming. The other couples children were attempting to be charming but really ended up on the annoying side. It was a good time. We had some things in common but not really enough for a second date. (FYI - do NOT look up images for 'swingers key bowl' first thing Monday morning. Even if it is for research. It is not pretty. That is why there is no image in this post. My eyes are traumatized.) (FYII - this was going to be the title but I was afraid I'd scare you off.) So flash forward to this past Saturday night, we’ve just had dinner and made it back to the couple’s house - a long windy drive though farmland into the depths of Tennessee in the dark. Husband making little swinger jokes all the while. At the house, we met the dogs, had the tour and then sat in the den for wine and chatting. And running thorough my head was Husband’s stupid question: “What if they…” It was making me awkward – more so than usual - so I took a big gulp of wine and I told them what Husband had said to me. I figured if they were going to bring out the key bowl, now would be the time, right after I’d told them that Husband thought they might. Thankfully they didn’t. Even better, they laughed. I mean, of course they laughed. Of course they wouldn’t be swingers and make a move on us. Of course Husband was wrong. And we had a lovely time fully clothed in their house. And they did not in the least seem upset that Husband had all but called them swingers and I’d kind of but not really suspected that they might be… I am starting to think; Husband and I might have something to do with there not being ever being a second date. |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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