some high-class shopping

The other night, Husband and I went to a ritzy mall in Dallas called Northpark. I do not use the term 'ritzy' lightly here. This place is seriously high-end. They have stores that I am afraid to enter because the blonde, tanned, polished fembots who work there might remove me immediately for being too poor. Regardless, we walked around the mall several times so I could 'ooh' and 'ahh' at all the fancy stores and make fun of all the crazy Dallas women who shop in them. At one point, I almost went up to a women to chastise her for shopping WITH HER THIRTEEN YEAR OLD DAUGHTER in the Juicy Couture store. [Juicy Couture makes pants that have the word 'JUICY' written across the rear. 1. You should not have words on your rear. 2. You should NOT have the word 'JUICY' on your rear. 3. YOUR THIRTEEN YEAR OLD DAUGHTER SHOULD NOT HAVE 'JUICY ON HER REAR. Also, your thirteen year old daughter should be shopping at Old Navy or somewhere equally age-appropriate and reasonably priced.]

One nice thing about ritzy malls is that they have ritzy paper and stationary stores. Poor Husband in his long-suffering patience spent about twenty minutes letting me wander around one of these paper stores pointing out journals and notecards that I liked. He nearly choked over the crazy-expensive wedding invitations. Then, much to my delight, we happened upon the Baby Announcement section.

That's right. Baby Announcements. He he. Remember the last time Husband was confronted with baby paraphernalia?

"Babe! Look! Baby Announcements!"

[Grunt.]

"Awww! How cute! We are totally doing this when we have a baby!"

"Why?"

"Because we have to ANNOUNCE our baby's birth. Doesn't your baby deserve an announcement?"

"Sure. Its called Facebook."

adjusting to our new locale

Please forgive the following, which will probably sound like an excerpt from a Texas travel guide.

OMG ya'll, Dallas RULZ!

Since we've been here, I've been indulging in all the things that Dallas has to offer that I couldn't find in my previous zip code. On Friday, Husband and I geared up for our weekly Date Night, and went to eat at Gloria's, a Mexican joint that Brother Robby introduced to us when he still lived here. After we ate, Husband started looking a little sneaky, which usually means he is going to try to talk me into going shopping. I know how much he loves this bike store in Dallas, how he would rave for tens of minutes about how awesome it was when he would visit Brother Robby, so I calmly suggested that perhaps he might be willing to take me to his bike store? So, off to Richardson Bike Mart we went. I think he started to regret bringing me along when I started asking stupid questions about the bikes, along the lines of "SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS?!?! FOR A BIKE?!?! My Nissan Sentra cost less than that!!".

I know, wild and crazy party people, right? Bike store on date night? Oh, just wait my friend. Wait for it.

On our way home, we were nearly in an accident when some crazy person in our car suddenly shrieked, "WHOLE FOODS!!!!!!!! WHOLE FOODS!!!!!!! PULL OVER NOOOOOOOOOOW!". Now, because Husband has saintly patience (and, let's face it, has put up with me for this long already), instead of killing me, he simply pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car while attempting to ignore the protruding vein pulsating in his forehead.

You know you are old when you actually enjoying walking through all the aisles at Whole Foods when you're on a date.

But, I have to say, we actually thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. I'm sure we must have been hilarious to watch, two grown people cooing and laughing at vegetables and fresh herbs and the fully-stocked fish case. I was nearly drunk with joy at the sheer variety of things available. I have always been irate at hosts on the Food Network who make snarky comments about how "you can find anything at your local grocery store these days." NO, INA GARTEN, NOT IF YOU LIVE IN THE MIDWEST, YOU CANNOT. However, now I know the secret! I'm in on it! You can literally find ANYTHING you would ever want at Whole Foods. I found fish there that I'd never seen except on tv.

This was particularly exciting because I have been in a major food rut lately. I have been making the same 5 to 8 things for probably 6 months. I can't remember the last Monday we didn't eat tacos. So, I am proud to announce to the Internet that my food rut officially ended as I was standing next to the fish case at Whole Foods. I saw some beautiful sole (one of those fish I'd never seen in real life) that I decided to make for dinner and POOF! So long, food rut!

Husband could hardly contain his rejoicing.

(Birthday) Weekend Update

Friends, we made it.

We've finally landed in our first big city (a top-ten market!) where we will spend the next five years while I attempt to procure yet another tiny piece of paper. The move itself was insane, involving a 6:00 am departure, a nervous cat, and the worst customer service experience ever with a certain cable company that I shall not name on the internet because I don't want to be sued. However, you cannot truly appreciate the entire moving experience without an understanding of the Birthday Week and its role in these past few days.

Ok, in my family a considerable amount of hoopla goes into anyone's birthday. A few years ago, I described the NFL game road trip that we surprised The Boss with on his birthday. In the spirit of The Boss, who likes to assert that he has more of a Birthday Month or Birthday Quarter than merely one day, Husband has slowly broadened the scope of his birthday over the past few years. You may recall his Birthday Weekend a few years ago. Well, this year, he decided that he really was entitled to a Birthday Week. The catch, however, was that his Birthday Week happened to fall on the week in which we moved. Out of state. As in, from one state into another state.

As you can imagine, much ado was made about the injustice of this move and how it was ruining the Birthday Week. Poor Husband had to pack boxes DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK and go through his clothes to set some aside for Goodwill ON HIS BIRTHDAY. In fact, Husband declined his traditional birthday breakfast in bed because he had to go to work early so he could come home early to pack the Uhaul.... DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK.

Once we got here, to the state where they make you put tags on the back and front of your car (seriously?!), Husband decided he'd had enough: "I'm not going to unpack a single thing. Its my Birthday Week. I'm going to sit on the..... on the floor...... and eat cake." Because, you see, Husband decided he wanted to sell all of our furniture before we moved, and I had not yet procured a couch for him to sit upon DURING HIS BIRTHDAY WEEK.

We'd heard the lore about Ikea (and we now live in a city that has one), so off we trudged to find some furniture. We had previously visited about 7 furniture stores in the area and found them all to be way out of our price range, so you can imagine how excited I was about the prospect of more shopping. But Husband wanted a couch FOR HIS BIRTHDAY, so off we went.

People, Ikea is a land of unicorns and butterflies and I would live there if they would let me bring my books.

After much debate, which included Motha! and I dragging various pieces of furniture across the store to see things together (I thought Husband might go wait in the car at one point), we finally decided on a couch and coffee table, and I found a bookshelf, which The Boss and Motha! were buying for me as a congratulatory "you survived your MA!" present.

Et voila!

Husband was quite content to sit on his couch and eat the cookies that Cass, M.D. (Brother Robby's sweet wife) baked him for his birthday. Later that night when everyone was gone, we were sitting there together, and Husband turns to me and says, "welcome home."

birthday lunch

"Babe, now that its your birthday, we've entered that part of the year when you are two years older than me. Now I get to brag about bagging an older man, and you can talk about your trophy wife."

"Babe, you are not a trophy! You are my equal."

[whines] "Baaaaaabe! I'm not your trophy wife?!?"

"You are seriously two different people. You are one person with me, and a completely different person with everyone else, especially in your profession."

"Well, of course I'm different with you. My relationship with you is totally different than my position in relation to all other men."

"Ha! See? I didn't want to spend 15 minutes of my 45-minute lunch listening to a barrage of feminism."

"Awwww! So you DO think I'm a trophy wife; you just didn't want to offend me?"

"Duh."

"HOORAY!"

he gets it!

I am a big fan of a book called The Five Love Languages. The book argues that different people show love in different ways. For example, you might show love by spending quality time with someone, giving gifts, or through physical touch. If you're me, you show love through words; if you're Husband, you show love through acts of service. Usually, the way that you naturally show love is also the way that someone can make you feel most loved.

Different love languages mean that people feel loved in different ways. The most amazing example of this was the time when Husband told me that when he loads his dirty plate after dinner (an act of service), he does it to show me he loves me. To me (words girl), loading your plate is just what you do when you get a plate dirty. So, I have to work hard to try to do acts of service for him (and recognize when he does them for me), and he tries to use words to show love to me.

These kinds of discussions about love languages can crop up in the strangest moments. Over the fourth of July weekend, Husband and I went to see the film Public Enemies. In the movie, Johnny Depp plays a bank robber who falls in love with a French girl who checks coats at a night club. The first night they spend together, he gives her a beautiful fur coat. As I'm totally mesmerized by the movie, Husband leans over and whispers in my ear, "I think his love language must be giving gifts."

when he walked in on me watching The Bachelorette

"These guys are ridiculous."

"You have NO idea. A guy earlier totally locked up. He got out of the limo and couldn't even say anything."

"If I was on that show--"

"WHAT?!?!"

"If I was on that show, I would--"

"WHY ARE YOU ON THAT SHOW?"

"Babe, if I'm on that show, its because I'm a Bachelor."

"WHY ARE YOU A BACHELOR?"

"I'd just walk up, lay one on her for like 10 seconds, and be like, 'You won't forget me now.'"

this is what happens when your wife has a blog

"My love for you is like a pine tree. It is always in bloom."

"Did you hear that on a movie?"

"No, I just made it up."

"Why?"

"So you'd actually write something nice about me on the internet."

so... we did it

I feel like I owe it to Husband to give him props for all the support he's given me in the past few months, a dark period known as LOOMING COMPREHENSIVE EXAMS/PhD APPLICATION MADNESS. In our house, we recently lived through a perfect storm of crazy, nearly four months of tears, screaming at laptops, and pacing in front of the mailbox that finally came to an end yesterday afternoon. For any graduate student, two most horrific times in your life are applying for your next program (a process I compare to standing naked in a room full of admissions officers who are poking you with sticks and telling you that you are not good enough) and taking your comprehensive exams to finish your current program (for me, this involved writing 37 pages in three days and then defending those 37 rambling pages to my unhumanly brilliant profesors). Unfortunately for me (and really, who am I kidding, for Husband), these two events happened simultaneously. Thus, the crazy.

I know its hard to believe that I would need emotional support during something like this because I am such an even-tempered, rational person, but I can honestly say that for me this has been one of the defining moments of our marriage because I don't know that I really knew what it meant to be someone's partner until Husband taught me what it means over these past few weeks. His support has been unflinching. Sometimes I imagined him standing outside our house with a shotgun to keep Those Mean People away from his wife because SHE HAS HAD ENOUGH and just needs a break already. He brought me Taco Bueno and took me to get ice cream and massaged my head when it ached, and if you know me, those things are the equivalent of a million dollars plus a really good hair day.

The real low point came a few weeks ago at my parents house. If you know me well enough to read this blog, then you probably know this story already. Even so, I feel the need to put this out there because I think sometimes we have to admit our vulnerabilities. That day at my parents' house, I had what I believe was my first clinically-diagnosable panic attack. I still had no idea if I would get into any PhD program and I was swamped with work for my exams, and then I found out that I needed to have yet another procedure on my toe which would involve NEEDLES IN MY TOE. For some reason, this new development exceeded the amount of Things I Can Handle and I absolutely lost it. I was crying hysterically and having trouble breathing and leaning over the toilet because I thought I was going to vomit, and then Husband was there. He pulled me onto the floor in his lap and held me against his chest and took long, slow breaths. Once I was breathing evenly, he just held me like a child and let me cry. I had never felt so completely torn apart, but I had also never felt so completely loved.

Thankfully, it got better in the following weeks. I was offered a spot in a PhD program with great funding and a department full of people I really like. Last week, I wrote that crazy exam over three horrific days, and yesterday I officially passed my examination defense. I called Husband on my way home and he told me to get home quick because he was on the driveway and ready to celebrate. When I got home, I actually found him streched out on the bed, and while he claimed to just be tired from his day at work, I understood that on some level he was exhausted from weeks and weeks of holding me together. I climbed into bed and burrowed into his chest and asked, "babe, are you excited its over?". His face buried deep in the pillow, I heard him offer a relieved little "Yay!".

And then, we celebrated.

cheeky little bugger

I may have mentioned here before that one of Husband's favorite pasttimes is Provoking My Wife. Apparently, its always good for a laugh. In the early days of our marriage, I could never understand why Husband would bring up subjects that I considered sensitive, and continue to beat that horse until I collapsed, breathless from all my screaming.


In his defense, when I say he brings up "sensitive subjects," I'm not referencing Western apathy toward genocide in Africa; I mean those really important social imperatives, like "cooking is women's work" and "careers in the liberal arts are meaningless." The really impressive thing, though, is that even though I should know that he does not hold any of these views, he convinces me so thoroughly with his delivery in that moment that I seriously feel the need to argue with him. Loudly.


Eventually, I learned to notice, mid-rant, that he was smirking; after hitting him a few times, I could go on with day. At least this way, I only spent about half the energy I would have exhausted in CONVINCING him that teaching is a profession that is completely devalued.


Even better, I have finally reached a zen place where I can recognize his scandal-mongering for what it is and refuse to respond. Like Ghandi. Or Yoda. I had been doing really well at rejecting his games until this past week when we were visiting his parents. I don't remember exactly how it came up, but Husband, his mother, his aunt, and I were all sitting around talking about laundry. [I know, right? You WISH you partied with us.] And Husband said, AND I QUOTE, "Yeah, I never have clean laundry. If I want clean clothes, I have to wash them myself."

[!!!!!!!!!!#&!&$*!%*!&&@**@!*#!!!!!!!!!!!!!]

Again, I knew he wasn't being serious. I knew he was just playing Provoke My Wife. But he said this IN FRONT OF MY MOTHER IN LAW. Could I possibly let MY MOTHER IN LAW think that I wasn't taking care of her son? That was a low blow, even for Husband. He KNEW making this kind of statement in front of his mom was the one thing that could set me off. The inner battle raged on as I fought to keep my expression neutral. You know, breezy.

"Wow, she is going to kill you."

"Look at her face. Its turning purple."

"I can't believe she's not yelling. Seriously."

[Breezy. I'm breezy. BE ONE WITH THE BREEZY.]

"I usually have to vacuum and clean the bathroom, too."

And that was the day the breezy died.

Pillows, a follow up

"Husband, I want my pillow back. You stole it, and I want it back."

"You gave it to me."

"No, I didn't give it to you. YOU STOLE IT. You KNEW my neck hurt when you tried to give me your pillow. That is MY pillow. MINE. Motha! bought it for me right before I left for college. She and I bought it. TOGETHER. So, not only are you stealing neck comfort from me, you are also stealing A MEMORY."

"You gave it to me."

"I DID NOT. I realized one night that my neck hurt, and that you had taken my pillow. I made you give the pillow back, but you only stole it from me again. This happened again and again, the stealing and the reclaiming and the complaining and the stealing and the whining, and despite my best efforts to annoy you into leaving me alone, YOU KEPT STEALING MY PILLOW. Finally, out of sheer exhaustion, I just stopped making you give it back. I gave up. You wore me down to my last shred of dignity."

"Right. You gave it to me."

not exactly taking one for the team

Husband and I really hate going to the grocery store. Its just a pain. In fact, I don't know anyone who actually likes going to the grocery store. Anyone? Seriously? Does anyone like it?

Because of our intense dislike of shopping for groceries (which makes sense for me because I just hate shopping in general, but Husband? The cover model? He who shops for fun? What's up with that?), we usually put it off until the last minute. For us, the last minute is late Sunday night after our Life Group. So, a few nights ago, we found ourselves, once again, trudging to the grocery store.

Sometimes we use the "divide and conquer" method to get ourselves out of there more quickly; Husband will gather his lunch-packing essentials while I take care of produce and dinner items. Well, Sunday night at the last minute I realized that I needed an avacado to serve with our tortilla soup.

"Will you run back and grab an avacado?"

"I don't know how to pick one."

"Really? Its really easy. I'll teach you. You just gently---"

"I'm sorry. What I meant was 'I don't want to'."

you don't find honesty like this everywhere

"Will you get the gum out?"

"Sure. Here you go."

"I meant get the gum out for you."

"What?"

"Your breath is gross."

[Silence.]

"Husband, you are SO lucky God gave you such a pretty face."

"I know. I think He gave it to me for our marriage. To help me survive."

in which I play a game, but he wins

Husband and I went to the movies a few weekends ago, and I was really in the mood for lighter fare. We'd been on a string of Oscar movies (Doubt, Rachel Getting Married, Benjamin Button, Slumdog Millionaire) and I really just needed to LAUGH. Because seriously, Oscar movies are not funny. So, to counteract all the socially-conscious, deep-thought-inducing films we'd recently seen, we decided to see He's Just Not That Into You. If you're not familiar, this film is based on a recent book that essentially mocks all of the horrible things women do in relationships. Because, you know, all women are sad and desperate and want nothing more than to cling to the hope of finding true love with whatever schmuck crosses their path. But I digress.

SO, in the spirit of the film we were about to see, I spent the car ride annoying Husband with all kinds of cliche "woman" comments about our "connection" and our "chemistry" and how he "really gets me." It really didn't help that I'd just finished watching a season of The Bachelor, so I had a wealth of material to draw from. I made sure to answer any of his comments by telling him how attractive he is and how he's everything I'm looking for and to fall into high pitched giggles with little to no warning. You can imagine how much fun this game was for him.

He tried at one point to turn the discussion to something more serious by bringing up a moment from Slumdog Millionaire. (As if that would stop me.) We were listening to the (amazing) soundtrack, and he tried to talk about the moment from the film associated with the song we were listening to.

"This is when he sees her on the platform at the train station."

"AWWWWWWWWWW! BAAAAAAAAAAABE! This song is so beautiful. Its the sound of a DEEP connection between people, you know? I hope that THIS is the song you hear when you think of me."

"What?"

"When you think of me. There should be music. Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabe! Don't you hear music when you think of me?"

"Ummm, no."

"WHAT?!?! Baaaaaaaaaabe, you don't think of me EVER!"

"I'm married to you. What else would I think about?"

"And you miss me when I'm gone. Like, REALLY?"

"Of course I miss you when you're gone. Especially when there's no food."

affirmation

My latest goal in life is to prepare fully balanced meals.

Wow, that was quite housewife of me. They're going to revoke my Feminist card. [At least The Boss will be pleased.]

When I first got married, I was barely able to get a sufficiently cooked protein on the plate, but I am now feeling like its important to have side dishes and bread thrown into the mix. I have been a bit cocky about this lately. When Husband and I sit down to plates that are full of three or four different food items, I have been known to say things like, "I am so glad I can feed you so well. Aren't you glad you married me? I am basically awesome."

[PLEASE remember before you judge me that I never cooked a day in my life until right before I got married and I still break out into hives when making something for the first time. Don't you remember this little debacle? And this one?]

The only problem with this is that Husband likes very few vegetables that are traditionally used for side items. He does not like corn. He does not like squash. Besides vegetables, I have only ever used rice as a side item, and guess what he REALLY doesn't like? Yeah. Rice. I am basically limited to potatoes and salad. That's it.

About a week ago, I thought I would give green beans a try. BAH! While he took a generous portion, Husband ate about 2.5 green beans. After dinner, I called him out about it.

"Wow, so no green beans, huh?"

"Yeah..... green beans are gross."

I think he noticed my crestfallen expression at my failure to provide acceptable side items because he immediately grabbed my butt and said, "YOUR green beans were delicious."

[Smirk.]

brown bag

I may have mentioned a time or two that I am a penny-pincher. I actually don't think there is a word in the English language to describe my intense desire to save money. I never buy anything that isn't absolutely necessary. I don't buy clothing for myself unless I absolutely need it for a specific purpose; why do so when you can get clothing for Christmas from your parents? When it comes to groceries, I buy necessities--as in, what is needed to sustain life--only. I never bought anything like cookies or ice cream, which I consider superfluous and indulgent, until I married Husband, the consummate sweet tooth. There is almost nothing I wouldn't do to save a few bucks.

If you know Husband and I, you know that this creates.... tension... between us at times. Husband is much more well-adjusted when it comes to money. He doesn't consider buying ice cream a crime, and he isn't racked with guilt when he goes out to eat. He also tends to make purchases that I don't quite understand. (Did you NEED that shirt? Were you told to buy it for work? Are you performing with a doo-wop group that calls for some kind of uniform? WHAT WAS THE SPECIFIC REASON FOR BUYING THE SHIRT?)

I tend to lose my mind most frequently over the fact that we eat out so much. Husband and I LOVE to go out for dinner, which can be rather costly. On a given weekend, we may eat out Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday afternoon. In addition, Husband tends to buy lunch every day of the week. Admit it, even for you normal people, that seems like a lot. To me it is MADNESS.

Husband has always said (at least for the past year or so) that he would eat a sandwich for lunch every day if I would pack it for him. Pack you own sandwich, I would retort. And so, the sandwich would go unmade, and another $7 would be spent that day on lunch. ($7 A DAY! FIVE DAYS A WEEK! I am hyperventilating just describing it.) Every few weeks, when I have my regular panic attack about the money we spend eating out, Husband reminds me that really, its my own fault that he eats out for lunch because if I would make him a bag lunch, he would eat it.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Finally, two weeks ago, I finally got over my aversion to the "make my lunch for me" idea in favor of saving money. I bought all the lunch meat, chips, and cookies (of course) needed to feed Husband for the week, and every morning, he wakes me up (usually by screaming "SANDWICH!") so I can feel like we are saving money. He has even taken to taunting me in the morning, a la "I'm about leave! You better make me lunch or I will be forced to go out! Probably somewhere expensive!"

(Have we discussed the fact that Husband lists among his hobbies Getting a Rise Out of My Wife?)

Anyway, this morning, I was gently awoken with a kiss on my forehead and a whispered goodbye. Darting out of bed, I cried out in my coffee-less morning stupor, "LUNCH! I GOT IT! GIVE ME TWO MINUTES!"

"I'm leaving."

"But... lunch!?"

"I'm on my way out the door."

"NO! Lunch!"

Patting my arm, he says, nonchalantly, "Oh, I made my own lunch."

If I didn't know my granny reads this (hi!), I would say that THAT is the language that can get a man lucky.

I commenced with cooing and petting and telling him how I proud I was. He just kissed me again and headed for the car. As I laid back down in the glow of marital bliss, I heard him call from the door,

"Just this once."

pillow negotiations

So, Husband and I have been fighting lately over a pillow.

Husband is ridiculously particular about his pillows. I have already taken him to Bed, Bath & Beyond TWICE to buy him a new pillow because something was wrong with the last one we purchased. Each time, he tries to convince me that I was the one who talked him into buying the last, obviously inadequate, pillow. He didn't want that pillow; I MADE him buy that pillow. Thus, he needs a new pillow of his own choosing.

About ten days ago, I realized that neck was really hurting. After a little sleuthing, I noticed that Husband had switched our pillows. Generally, I prefer a solid pillow with lots of neck support, while Husband has always purchased softer pillows. Apparently, I had been sleeping for a few days on the flat pillow that Husband had suddenly disregarded. When confronted, Husband resorted to his usual tactics.

"My pillow is HORRIBLE."

"We JUST bought that pillow for you a few months ago! Don't you remember? We spent like an hour in there while you tried out EVERY SINGLE PILLOW THEY HAD. You chose that pillow and would not hear of any other pillow. WE BOUGHT THE EXPENSIVE PILLOW. You have to live with your choice."

"But I hate it."

Naturally, I beat Husband with the pillow a little bit, then took it back.

However, the next night, Husband accused ME of stealing HIS pillow.

"Give me my pillow."

"I'm sorry, are you asking if you can use MY pillow?"

"I'm saying you need to give me MY pillow back."

"MY NECK IS SORE. I CAN'T SLEEP WITH YOUR PANCAKE PILLOW."

Some friendly pillowfighting commenced, but I managed to sleep with my own pillow that night. Since then, a subtle pillow conspiracy has been unfolding in our house. The pillow migrates to various locations as we each try to steal it without the other noticing. I have resorted to swapping other pillows from the guestroom or taking pillows out of shams in a desperate attempt to keep my beloved pillow, but I have a feeling Husband still has a few tricks up his sleeve. All I can say is that if we are coming over, hide any and all bedding you want to keep. I think he would snatch a friend's pillow before asking his tightwad wife to buy him yet another pillow.

a 3 Skittle marriage

About a week ago, Husband brought home a bag of Skittles from work. Husband is a chronic snacker, and accumulates a lot of snacks at work. He has been known to walk to a nearby Wal-Mart to stock up on munchies to stockpile in his desk. So, I was actually surprised that he only brought home a regular sized bag of Skittles, but he let me know that he left the family size bag at work.

SO, after dinner, Husband whips out the Skittles, which naturally prompted a request from me.

"Can I have some?"

"No."

"What?!"

"You don't just want 'some.' If I give you a few, you'll want the rest of the bag."

"Not true! [Yeah, that's probably true.] I asked for 'some' and that is what I meant."

"That is not what you meant."

"So I really can't have any?"

"No."

Not surprisingly, I got all pouty and began analyzing what this lack of sharing means to our relationship. I mean, really? No Skittles? Well, if we don't share Skittles, I can think of a few other things maybe we won't share, either, mister! NO SHARING. Its officially every man for himself in this house. Next time you need some dinner, get it yourself! You can clean your own bathroom! AND DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING ONE OF MY BOOKS. MINE.

A few minutes later, probably to shut me up, Husband offered me the bag.

"Here, you can have the rest."

"Awwwwwww! That's so sweet, babe! I knew you would--- WHAT?! THREE SKITTLES! YOU LEFT ME THREE SKITTLES? Since when do we have a three Skittle marriage?! Is that all I MEAN to you?! THREE SKITTLES?"

Being married to me must truly be such a joy.

The next day, I had totally forgotten about the entire Skittle debacle until Husband came home with nearly an entire bag of Skittles.

"Here, babe. I brought you this so you wouldn't think we have a three Skittle marriage. You can have as many of my Skittles as you want."

And that is why I married him. He listens to me even when I'm loud and shrieky, and he lets me eat his candy.

reaction

"Babe, I wrote on the blog!"

"Oh yeah, what about?"

"You'll just have to read it and find out."

"Well, it can't be about me because I didn't do anything stupid........... did I?"

query

So, earlier tonight, we're Trashmagging, an activity wherein we go to the bookstore and sit for hours reading magazines for free (recession? huzzah!), and in one of my lady mags I come across one of those mind-boggling polls that is supposed to give me deep insight into the male psyche.

Magazines targeted to women are truly horrible.

Anyway, the poll, which claimed to survey 1000 men, asked said men to rate, in order of importance, the attributes they most desire in a wife. The results?

1. Financially saavy

Obviously, I stopped right there because the poll immediately lost all credibility. FINANCIALLY SAAVY? Seriously? Where did they find these men? I'm not thinking I know a single adult male who would, upon meeting, say, Heidi Klum, pause to consider, but what about her portfolio?

Amusingly, there is nothing in this poll about sex or physical appearance until the fifth most desired characteristic. The men in the survey rank intelligence (2), independence (3), and loyalty (4) higher than a willingness to "close your eyes and do your duty" on a regular basis (actual advice given to a friend of mine by her sweet grandmother... at her wedding in front of all her friends).

Everything Cosmo ever taught me about men has been a lie.

I lean across my huge pile of glossies to ask Husband, "if asked, what would you say is the characteristic you most desire in a wife?". I can tell from his freaked out expression that he fears a trap, like I've just asked him if these jeans make me look fat.

"This poll," I say, shoving the magazine under his face, "asked men what they most desire in a wife and they claim the number one answer was that she be financially saavy. FINANCIALLY SAAVY."

"Oh." I've never seen him look so relieved. "I guess its the times we're in. New set of priorities. If it weren't for this economy, number 5 would be number one."

Is this true, gentlemen? Are we suddenly living in some alternate universe where Suze Orman is a more desirable partner than Angelina Jolie? Are you looking for the woman who can bring home the bacon for the cheapest price?

A few minutes later, Husband started whimpering about wanting coffee, and would I please get him some?

"Oh no, dear. In this economy, we have to watch our pennies."

"Hmm."

"But how desirable am I right now?!"

endless source of material

So, we're eating out tonight, and we have a particularly colorful waiter. He first dazzled us with a fascinating story about how he fell asleep after watching some friends play football and woke up 5 MINUTES before his shift started. 5 MINUTES! HILARIOUS!

As he walks away, I start to laugh about how crazy this guy is, when Husband says, "Give him a break. He's an over share-er, like you."

Now, this is totally true. I am infected with the need to overshare. I tell random store clerks and Starbucks baristas my life story, and Husband's as well when he is with me. Pharmicists generally get to enjoy my ENTIRE health history when I pick up my perscriptions. People at church know way too much about our marraige. STILL, comparing me to this guy was just too much.

Later, as he is clearing our plates, Waiter asks if we managed to save any room for dessert.

"No," I say. "We're totally full."

Waiter: "Yeah, I am always trying to sell desserts, but it never happens."

Me: "Well, we're Americans. We overeat."

Waiter: "Yeah, then we all join gyms. Owning a gym must be the easiest job! People always join, but never go."

Me: "Except for this guy." [gesturing to Husband] "He just lost 50 pounds."


[HE HE.]


Waiter: "Yeah, really? That's awesome! I tried to do that once. I kept it off for a while, but then I gained it all back. Not right away, but like over a few years........ [insert 5 minutes of rambling and some weird sound effects mimicking the sound of jiggling fat]. So, that's awesome about your weight loss, man! How did you do it? Exercise? Just getting off your rump?"

Husband: "Yep."

Waiter: "That's awesome!"

So, he leaves with the plates and we are struggling to keep straight faces. I was really proud of Husband for managing to hold it together, considering the bomb I dropped on him. But then Waiter returns with the check.

"Well man, congratulations on your weight loss. That might just inspire me to lose 50 pounds myself!".

Husband smiles until the guy is out of earshot, then says, "This means you will finally write on the blog!"