Conversations with The Husband (First in a series)

Scene:  Friday night Halloween party at a dark and crowded bar.  My costume, is, well.......lacking.  I was planning on wearing a hoodie that says "I'm a Cat" but decided it would be too warm.  So I have on a black top, black pleather mini skirt, black knee high boots, fishnets, and a cat ears headband.  Affixed to my top are NINE buttons.  Each button pictures a book cover from various fairy tales.  No one know what I am supposed to be.  I was all proud of my cleverness but now I am feeling deflated and lame.

“The problem with this costume is that it is too subtle. You can’t really tell what’s on the buttons unless you get all up close and in my bosoms to read the buttons. And no one wants to…..well.  No.  That’s obviously not true”.

“I mean, unless you’re feeding a baby, boobs have no real purpose”

“That’s not true! They’re good for….um….holding one’s cell phone whilst dancing”

“You can hold your phone in your elbow or armpit”

“Well that’s not practical!  What if want to do the Macarena?  I am much more likely to do the Macarena at a party than I am to flash my tits.”

No one contradicts me so I continue.  “Okay, fine.  Boobs are also drink holders.”  And I pull back the neckline of my top so I can rest my cup on my bosom shelf.

“I can do that too!”  And he pulls away his shirt collar and traps the cup between his chest and collar so the collar of his shirt holds the cup stable.

“Yeah but you can’t do THIS!” and I pull away my collar and the cup remains in place.  “GAME SET MATCH BOYYYYYYY”

Conversations with The Husband (First in a series)

In Which There is Much Whine but No Wine

I mean, I love my kids.  Duh.  I’m glad I had them and I’m glad they’re happy and healthy and I’m glad they exist in the world but I am equally as glad that they are adults and do not exist under my specific roof.

And I’m sure I’m not alone in this.  Life becomes so much less stressful without worrying about homework, and carpooling and doctor’s appointments and “OH MY GAWD MOM MAKE HIM STOP HITTING ME WITH POTATOES”, ammirite?

But here is something I discovered a while ago and will share with those who are still yearning to be free. 

See, I have come down with teh sickness.  And I know we’re all familiar with the comedic gem of an idea that when a man gets sick, his entire world basically ends, but when a woman gets sick she must hold it all together and GET SHIT DONE, regardless.*

But when Mama is living childfree?  Mama can get sick LIKE A MAN.

::grabs crotch and spits::

So yeah.  Yesterday, Monday, was my long day at work.  Twelve hours, plus.  Day started with stomach pains, then back ache (which is actually the norm for me these days, hooray slipped disc), then cramps came to join the party, and finally, fashionably late but still most unwelcome, coughs, chills, aches, all that good cold stuff.  A right ol’ hootenanny right there in my poor worn out body.  I texted the husband to ask him to throw my warm cozy blanket into the washer because one of the cats had hocked up a hairball on it and I hadn’t washed it yet because I am a garbage person.  (Oh don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t USING it, it was with other to be washed items, DUH).

But he was busy in the basement, killing things, and apparently did not see my text.

So I texted our roommate to ask him to tell the husband to check his messages but roommate wasn’t home.  But roommate’s GIRLFRIEND was at the house so I asked HER to ask husband to check his text messages.

Five minutes later, I get a text from husband that he can not find the shirt he wore to the party we went to Friday night.  I assume that, although he did not acknowledge my request, NOR DID HE EXPRESS EMPATHY FOR MY PAIN AND SUFFERING COUGH COUGH COUGH WHEEZE DYING, he must’ve seen the message, right?  So my warm and cozy comfort blankie was CERTAINLY being washed, right?  RIGHT?

So I’m finally heading home from work, feeling like a flattened cat, roommate’s girlfriend texts that she just saw my message and do I still need her to pass it on and I do not respond because texting and driving is bad, mm’kay?  (Seriously, don’t do that shit around me, I will rain down upon you like a motherfucker, flattened cat or no).  And well, also, because, presumably, the situation has been handled.   (I am positive the preceding sentence had more commas than were strictly necessary, but I don’t KNOOOOOW, what do I look like, a forreal writer that spits Strunk and White from it’s eyes???)

I forgot what I was saying.

ANYWAY!  I was cranky when I got home.

I had to bend over to pick up a package from the doorstep.  Whine at package

I tried to put roommate’s mail in the designated mail spot on our refrigerator and everything fell off the refrigerator.  Whine at refrigerator.

Husband stops killing things and comes upstairs to see how I am.  Whine at husband about blanket.

(Turns out he did wash it because he is a good husband.)

Whine at husband to put blanket in dryer when it is done

Open fridge to start comfort dinner of beanie weenies.  See bottle of wine

Whine at wine.

(because I want to drink wine, but I am also planning on hitting a bottle of NyQuil later and I do not want to die)

Cook dinner, eat dinner, clean up after dinner, whine the whole way through.

Take shower. Whine because the water hurts.

Go to medicine cabinet.  Discover that SOMEONE used all the NyQuil.  Whine A LOT. (Spoiler alert, it was probably past-me)

Go to bed.  Reach for bottle of water.  Water bottle is empty.  Cat meows for attention.  

Whine at water bottle and throw cat across the room.

Or maybe vice versa, things were pretty hazy by then, what with all the whine.

Bottom line, being sick without kids is GREAT because I can super indulge in ALL THE WHINE.

*(Generally speaking, I hate generalizations, especially along gender lines.  But I’m going to roll with it this time.  For comedic porpoises.)

In Which There is Much Whine but No Wine

DON'T get in mah belleh!

It is birthday eve and the husband and I are going out for dinner.  We are going to La Tasca, in DC, because all you can eat tapas for $39.00 per person, yes please!  So I figure, okay, a nice light lunch, leave lots of belly room for brave potatoes and whatnot.

 

So when my department places our lunch order, I order the soup.  The soup comes with bread and butter.  A LOT of bread and butter.  Like, a LOAF of bread bigger than my head.  Now don’t get me wrong, I love bread.  Bread is the best.  And bread plus also soup?  Happy lunch to me.

EXCEPT.  See “all you can eat” above.  I need all available belleh room for tapas.

But still.  BREAD IS GOOD, yo.  I can’t just leave this bread sitting on my desk.  It is sure to get eated if I do that.

There is clearly only one solution. An email.  To the entire department.  To wit:

To:   The Entire Damn Department

From: That Goofy Girl You all Know

Subject: Bread

Like, a ton of it.  On my desk.  Free to a good home.  Save me before I carb 

again.

The bread, much like Nic Cage, was gone in 60 seconds.

DON'T get in mah belleh!