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Archive for the ‘Compromise’ Category

Well… It’s almost that dreaded time of year again.

 

  • The time when the town is painted red and hearts are all a-flutter.
  • The time of starry eyes, giggles and smiles.
  • Of flowers in bloom (at least at the florist….)
  • The time when colorful bouquets of over-priced expressions of love appear everywhere and beautiful glittery diamonds sparkle all over tv with the reminder of how to spell the word kiss… (Which, by the way, is with a “K”…. Not a “Kay”) – for those if you not in the US, this is reference to a kind of annoying commercial!
  • The time when, if you’re lucky, the toilet seat gets put down… If even for a moment, as a grand expression of love.

 

As your tiny hiney is spared from the splash of cold wetness in the middle of the night…. You realize that you are truly loved and that the barbarian you live with, is truly trying to be romantic by keeping your tushy dry…. even if it only lasts for one special evening!

 

It’s the day of St Valentines.  The day that men all over the universe dread deep down to the fiber of their being.   The day when they are asked… No.  Not asked.  Expected – to civilize themselves and do something nice for their honey.

 

And ladies, while we may simply adore dry tushies.. We all know that one day of a closed toilet seat does not, in fact, represent smoldering affection (for me that would come in the form of clean counters and folded laundry – but hey, I’m a simple gal!)

 

So, we hold these poor souls, the men in our lives, to impossible standards on this day and we make it so high pressured that they’d rather submerge themselves in syrup and lie down on hill of fire ants than try to plan the perfect….. night….gift…. gesture……

 

We’re a tough bunch, Ladies.  You know it.  I know it.  And, more importantly, the men in our lives know it.

 

So, this Valentines Day… Why don’t you meet in the middle with a prize from a  fun-filled giveaway I’m running in conjunction with FANDANGO!

Fandango FeelTheLoveVday_FB_500x500Fandango Vday-500x500

Fandango has launched a new Movie Crush section which is your one-stop destination for planning the perfect Valentine’s movie night.   It’s a great way to find yourself the perfect movie to get into the spirit of romance for Valentine’s Day.  And, as an added bonus, you’ll get a pair of love songs from Amazon MP3 with any Fandango ticket purchase between January 28 – February 18.

 

For more information and info on the latest trailers and ticketing options, please visit Fandango’s “Movie Crush” at www.fandango.com/moviecrush

 

And.. more importantly, In conjunction with Fandango, I’m giving away a FREE pair of date night tickets!

 

All you have to do is comment below to be entered.  If you share this post on Facebook or Twitter you’ll earn an additional entry for each share (just leave an another comment letting me know after each share)!   I will be picking a winner, at random, at 5pm on Tuesday, February 11th.  This should give you plenty of time to plan how you want to gift your FREE tickets to your special someone on the 14th!

 

Good luck and remember….take it easy on your man this V-Day.  Romance generally doesn’t come easy…. and, if you happen to have a good catch, someone who’s great at grand,  romantic gestures….. Thank your lucky stars that you have a dry hiney….

 

There are many other women patting down their derrières this very minute somewhere else the world, cursing and grumbling because they sat down too quickly in the dark!

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The winner of this contest is Jessie C with comment #9.  CONGRATULATIONS!!!

random #

 

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I hate washing dishes…..

 

Not nearly as much as I hate washing floors, but I do harbor a pretty strong distaste for this particular chore.    And we do have a dishwasher, so it’s not like there are a ton of dishes that need hand washing but, in my opinion, even 1 pan or  1 Tupperware container is too much.    Thankfully most items make their way to the dishwasher (thank god we have one of these or I might be using disposable pot & pans)  But regardless this is a task that I despise…………….

 

Now, if they’d only make an automatic floor mopping device, we’d be in good shape…. But, I digress…………….

 

Anyhow, this particular chore aversion has always been lessened by the fact that hubby doesn’t mind doing this chore.  Now don’t misunderstand, he doesn’t like it, but he does like playing with water (like any child) and he does like to eat – and he DOESN’T like to cook – so, the natural progression was for him to take on the bulk of hand washing dishes, when necessary.  And, they lived happily ever after.

 

UNTIL

 

The baby arrived.

 

As you may know, babies are messy.  There’s more laundry than I ever imagined could come from the addition of one tiny human.   And consequently, there’s a heck of a lot more dirty items in general.  One item in particular is bottles.   It’s amazing how quickly they multiply in our sink, and if you blink too quickly, you may have 6 bottles at the end of the day…. And there they sit; all beckoning, and taunting, and giggling amongst themselves at all they work they have in store for you.

This is only 2 bottles!

This is only 2 bottles!

You see, like any clueless new parents, we wound up with bottles that have like 426 different tiny pieces that all must be assembled, in puzzle like fashion, to come together to prevent excess gas intake, or maybe it’s to improve baby IQ, or perhaps solve global warming.  Ok, I’m not really sure why there are so many dang pieces.  But what I AM sure of, is that cleaning these mother f’ers is a royal pain in my posterior region (and just for the record, these are Dr. Brown’s bottles -and they DO work, even though I’d pay millions of dollars for a full-time bottle washer).     Each tiny, individual, piece must be disassembled, washed, brushed, poked, scrubbed and violated in a way that only long tubular bottle pieces can, to ensure they are clean for our little one.   And, my friends, these puppies can’t go in the dishwasher.  I mean, sure, they can in fact go in the dishwasher but…. once you take them out of the dishwasher, you have to put them back into the sink to clean them.   Cause, with all the contraptions they sell to help make bottles dishwasher-cleanable… the only thing that really works is a bit of elbow grease, some pruny hands and about 4 hours in front of the sink.  Not to mention the day when I tried to wash them in the dishwasher and the bottles all came out with a nice orange-y, reddish hue.  Thank you Mr. Marinara sauce.

 

So, this brings me to the “meat” of my blog post.  What you just read was really just the back story.  And, you were wondering up to this point….. why the heck is she talking so much about baby bottles????  So, stay with me people.

 

As I mentioned earlier, hubby is our in-house dishwasher.  That is of course until the baby arrived – since bottle washing is so daunting – I’ve had to suck it up and wash bottles……… which, in case you were wondering, I still despise!  And, in case you missed it, I will remind you again… washing bottles SUCKS and takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r.   So hubby, in his infinite wisdom, says to me.  “Do ya think you could buy us a kitchen mat to stand on while we wash dishes for 6 hours a day?”  And being the loving wife I am, I respond “Why yes hubby, I certainly can”.  And then off I went to help give us comfy place to stand in front of the sink.    And, if I do say so myself, I found a rockin’ kitchen mat – if you can, in fact, use that sort of terminology to describe a kitchen mat.

"The best thing to ever set foot on!"

“The best thing to ever set foot on!”

This mat is cushy, cozy, comfy and maybe even kick-ass (I was going for another “c” word there – but I ran out of adjectives).  You see, the mat is made of memory foam, and when you stand on it, your feet just melt into it and are nicely cushioned to provide some otherwise not-so-present-comforts, for your tiny toes, while you stand in front of the sink and work your way through your 300th bottle part.  So, this mat sat in place for a day or so before hubby assumed the position to tackle the day’s chore.  And, when he stepped on to the mat, his toes began singing, his lower back started smiling and his mouth started saying….. “holy crap, this is the best thing I’ve ever stood on!!”  And then, in true hubby fashion, he needed to expound on his statement with some of the following:

 

“My feet have never been so happy”

“Why don’t they make shoes out of this material?”

“Every floor, everywhere, should be made of this stuff!”

“This is seriously the best thing I’ve ever felt on my feet!!”

“I’m never moving out of this spot”

 

And finally…. “ We need these mats ALL OVER the house”

 

What he doesn’t realize is that I’d NEVER put that material all over the house…….

I have him right where I want him.  In front of the sink, poised to wash bottles, and never wanting to move.   I’m not nearly as dumb as I look…………………and perhaps, with a little luck,  some incredibly comfy feet, and an equally happy hubby……….. I’ll never have to wash a bottle, ever again!  :-)

 

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Hello my name is The Wife…. And I have a coat addiction.

 

There I said it.  Out loud.  (of course “out loud” is to no one other than the baby  – who is currently sleeping, probably didn’t hear me, and likely wouldn’t care if he did).  But, they say that admitting that you have a problem is the first step…. Right?   Ok, it’s not so much a problem if it doesn’t hurt anyone…. Right??

 

I have been addicted to coats for about 20 or so years.  It probably started right after I got my first job out of college, since this was probably the first time I had enough money to actually go out and feed this addiction.  Coincidentally, this was likely also the time when I started to have enough places to go in order to actually have a need to wear multiple coats.

 

As of this exact moment, I have 35 in total (and, yes I actually did just go and count them – which was sort of eye-opening in and of itself).  Some women have shoe addictions (ok, I have that too… but that’s a post for a different day) but most of my attention is put towards outer wear.  I simply cannot resist a new, fashionable jacket that has a unique cut, or color that might, some day, look cute with a certain outfit (that I don’t even own yet……)  My addiction has grown well beyond the “coat closet” in our foyer.  It’s also taken over almost an entire closet in the spare bedroom, and necessitates a seasonally appropriate swap to ensure that coats downstairs are the right weight for the current weather. 

 

There are a few problems with this.

 

1)      My addiction has oozed over into hubby’s attire.  Now, you may be scratching your head wondering what the heck this means.   Well, my inability to pass up a fashionable, on-sale jacket may have trickled over into buying coats for hubby.  To date hubby has 14 coats….. yes, probably overkill for a guy. But, I can assure you, he looks mighty dapper (dapper –what a fun word, and not easily worked into conversation…..)  in each and every one of them!  If you were to add his coats to my coats, we could probably keep our entire block warm during the winter…. Which brings me to the 2nd problem………..

2)      The sheer # of coats might, just possibly, impact hubby’s ability to put away his coats.  You should probably read THIS POST about the # of coats that are NOT in our coat closet, in order to understand my dilemma.    Could I have created my own challenge here….. NO!! I’m not willing to accept any responsibility…. So, we’ll just move onto the next problem.

3)      Hubby seems to need his own intervention.   You’d think that hubby, who doesn’t necessarily understand my affinity towards outerwear.  Who doesn’t really “get” the need for himself to have 14 coats.  Who needs reminding that he has a different coat that might look better with an outfit.  Who complains that I have too many coats.  Who can’t cram his own coats into the coat closet because I have too much in there (WAIT – I just remembered, I’m not taking responsibility for this…..).  Anyhow, you’d think that he, of all people, would not feed into my addiction…… but you’d be WRONG!

 

With any good addiction, the person suffering from the problem is usually surrounded by some great enablers.  So, I’d like to share with you some evidence.

 

This, my dear blog readers, is a picture of one of my Christmas presents from this year, FROM HUBBY:

leather jacket 

 This, my dear blog readers, is a picture of one of my Christmas presents from 2 years ago, FROM HUBBY

 Red jacket

 

Yes, they are DAMN CUTE coats.  Yes, I will happily wear them.  Yes, I can already envision the cute outfits that will coordinate with my most recent gift.  Yes, I will find-a-way to squeeze it into an already overflowing closet.  Yes, I LOVE my gift… but heck, I ask you this?????  Who has exactly has the problem here??  Me, or hubby who, if he continues to buy me cute coats, will probably have to start moving his entire wardrobe into the shed in the backyard just so I have a place to put everything???!   :-)

 

And.. in honor of the “Why I Love My Husband” link up party at  The Happy Wives Club….  (my list started HERE in case you missed it)

 

Reason # 11 why I love my hubby is….. he buys me stuff that I absolutely do not need, but that he knows I will enjoy!

Reason #12  is…. he really is a good gift buyer (which is a huge complaint of most women) but my hubby has always been really, really good at this as noted here & here!

 

 

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Some of you who have been reading for a while may remember that we have some traditions at our home for the Christmas holiday.

 

There have been a number of stories I’ve shared with you; from posts about light up holiday pigs, to hubby’s Santa wish lists, to the army of nutcrackers that station themselves in our dining room each Christmas.  These stories have taken us on the perfect Christmas tree shopping excursion and to the inner workings of my mind (scary I know!) via my rendition of ‘Twas The Night Before Christmas.

 

You may recall last year (like every year according to hubby) when I ruined Christmas.  This of course is hubby’s overly dramatic representation of my desire to add bows to our Christmas tree.  If you remember THIS POST, then you may also recall that I prefer white lights on our Christmas tree.  And after 10 years together, I have won this battle every single year (a small victory given how many battles I seem to lose).  Well, last year I went out after Christmas and stumbled upon an amazing sale on colored LED lights.   And, after much consideration and pondering, and agonizing, I decided to buy enough to decorate the tree with them.   I figured this would be a nice surprise for hubby IF he was a good boy all year (no small feat) and, if you are starting to know hubby, you realize it would take a LOT!  So, fast forward to now.  We have had a whirlwind year.  We found out we were pregnant (notice there’s that word “we” again… when we all know it was ME who was pregnant).  Our little one arrived very early (NOTHING… and I do mean NOTHING was ready for his arrival).   And, since he’s been a part of our lives we’ve had multiple trips back to the hospital, more tears than I can begin to recount and more worries than anyone should have when celebrating the birth of a precious young boy.   But, this post is not meant to be a downer…. It’s just to illustrate that it’s truly been a tough year despite all the joys and excitement of expanding our family.

 

Soooooo, the holidays are upon us and we take the gazillion tubs of Christmas out of the attic.  We then begin to discuss how the heck we are going to decorate amidst the baby swing, pack n play, bouncy seat, etc.. etc..  It’s a daunting task but we are up to it and we are trying desperately to cling to some normalcy to try to move past the difficulties we’ve had the last 3 months.  As we sort through the outdoor lights, hubby gets a glimmer in his eye… as he realizes there are enough colored  lights to put on our indoor tree.  He begins to plan his attack.

 

He pulls out a piece of paper.  He counts light strands.  He makes notes.  He recounts.  He write down more info.  He looks outside.  He looks at his piece of paper.  Then with all his homework done, he approaches me with a suggestion.

 

“You know,”  he says “those 2 trees outside have grown a lot since last year”  dramatic pause.   “So, if my math is right we’ll need 1000 lights on each one rather than the 700 we used last year”.

 

I’m silent…… quietly waiting to see where he’s going with this…….

 

“So, I think we’ll really need to use extra white LED lights, you know, the ones we used inside last year, in order to properly decorate outside”

 

I’m still silent.

 

“Look at my paper here.   We’ll need 1000 for this tree, 800 for this tree, probably 700 for these bushes.  Here’s how many we have (he shows me another column).  So, you can see that we don’t have enough white lights to do all the things we normally do outside… UNLESS we also use the lights we normally put on the indoor tree.”

 

And there it is…. His ploy to angle for an indoor Christmas tree with colored lights…. But he hasn’t said it yet.   He’s smart enough to try to let me get there on my own.

 

Ok, I’ll bite… so I reply “if we used the colored lights on the indoor tree, we’d have enough white lights for outside…. right?”  I can see the glimmer of  hope in his eyes…..   “Ok” I quietly reply.

 

Now I can see it slowly registering in his mind…. Did she just say yes?  Could this possibly be the year I get my wish of a colored tree?  Did I hear her correctly? I’m scared to open my mouth…. What if I say the wrong thing and she changes her mind???

 

Without hearing a response from him, I say…. “YES, you heard me correctly.  You can have your colored tree.  Just don’t expect this to be permanent, I’m just feeling mighty generous this year!”

 

Then, being the smart man he is… he feels the need to plant the seed, to build his case for future years.  He says “What if our little one prefers colored lights too??”   And, since I’m not about to squash all his future dreams I reply “Let’s wait until he can speak so he can let me know himself…. And no trying to sway him to your side!”

 

So there you have it folks… we are having a Christmas tree with colored lights this year…. Hubby won this round…… HOWEVER, we will STILL have bows on the tree.   Do ya think I’ll still be “ruining Christmas”???

 

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Hubby and I vacationed this week…… it was sort of like our last hoorah before the baby comes and our lives are forever changed.   If you were to ask hubby, he would insist that we will NOT give up vacationing like this.  I tend to err on the side of caution and recognize that we won’t have a clue how our lives will change until they actually change…. but I’m sure that our ever-changing lives (just like my ever-changing belly) will undoubtedly be the topic of future posts!

 

Today’s post however, is not about any of that – it’s about pants…. or perhaps more accurately, the absence of pants.

 

You see, an ever-occuring battle, argument, discussion prior to each vacation is whether or not hubby needs to pack pants.  We tend to like all-inclusive trips that offer of a number of restaurants on property.  Many of these restaurants have a dress code.  Which could loosely be described as “pants required for all men”.   In all honesty, not that hard to comply with…… right?!  Well, unless you are hubby and you need to debate the need to wear pants at a resort, in 85 degree weather.   Ok, maybe debate isn’t the right word…. other words that come to mind are… whine or complain.

 

I generally win the debate and pants, however despised, make their way into his luggage.

 

Then, after we make it to the resort, hubby grumbles the entire first night as we get dressed for dinner.  Once we make it to the restaurant, hubby scours the crowd for any men who are in non-compliance with the dress code… then he says to me…..”¡No Pantalones!” as he nods his head in the direction of someone.  “¡No Pantalones!” as he walks past a couple at a table.  (yes, in case you have guessed – we are in Mexico. Thus, hubby’s limited language skills come out as he tries to make his case  – now in Spanish – about why I didn’t need to force him to wear “pantalones”).  I guess I should be happy that he’s honing his Spanish vocabulary since, to date, he can probably say maybe 15 words in this language.  What I’m not enjoying is his need to over-use his new favorite statement.

 

We get ready for bed and as hubby removes his pants he merrily declares:  “¡No Pantalones!”

I put on my bathing suit in the morning and hubby smiles and says:  “¡No Pantalones!”

He swims up to the pool bar and from across the water, I can see him mouthing:  “¡No Pantalones!”

 

Yes folks, this has become the catch phrase of our vacation so hubby can remind me like 1564 times a day that he really didn’t need to pack pantalones… since no one seems to enforce the pantalones rule at dinners.   At this point, I’m starting to think about hiding all the pantalones when we get home just so I can continue to use this new phrase every time he gets ready for work……  He steps out of the shower, opens the empty dresser drawer with a quizzical look on his face, and behind him he hears me whispering…..   “¡No Pantalones!”   :-)

 

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Evenings are an interesting time in our household.   

 

They are a time when we battle over who’s going to cave first and mention dinner.  This is important simply because the “mentioner” automatically becomes the “decider”.  And, while this sounds like a good role…. it’s actually not.  Because the “decider” also has to be the “doer”.  As in, get up off the couch and DO something about dinner.  This could be cook.  It could be pick the take-out menu.  It could mean drive to Chipolte.  Even after all the “coulds” the one thing it certainly means is that the “mentioner” needs to take some action.  And, neither of us wants to do this.  So, we both sit there actively ignoring the stomach grumbles and ticking clock just so we can avoiding doing something.

 

 

They are a time when we play the hot potato remote game.  You see, it’s always good to be the one to control the remote.  Or is it?  At our house, we almost never want to watch the same thing.  So, one of us is “weighted” with the burden of the remote.  When you have the remote, are you supposed to grandly control the remote and choose what you want to watch OR are you supposed to make the even grander gesture of selflessly choosing the show that you know your spouse wants to watch?  It’s sort of lose-lose either way.  You either pick your show and make your spouse miserable or you pick their show and make yourself miserable.  So, we play a stealthy game of remote avoidance.  We’ve even been known to watch an entire show that neither of us wants to watch just because we are both too stubborn to pick up the remote and change the channel!

 

They are a time when we both become deaf & dumb.  After one of us has succumbed to mentioning dinner, and one of us has begrudgingly assumed remote responsibility, we are generally settled into our comfy decompress mode.  Then, of course, the dog wants to go out.  She sits in front of the sofa and stares at us.  We pretend to not see her (the first one to make eye contact loses since she’s smart enough to spot weakness!).  Then she begins pacing…. we both focus solely on the tv.  Then she moves to the door and politely “woofs”.  We pretend we can’t hear her (there must be something intently interesting on tv!).  Then she realizes that we’re playing the evening ritual and comes back to the couch.  She picks one of us and stares so intently, you’d think our eyebrows would catch on fire.  We are intentionally oblivious.  Then, one of us (ok, probably me) feels bad and starts to get up from my snuggled spot on the sofa to let the dog out.  The other one just sits there as if nothing at all has just transpired around him  (I mean him/her?)

 

And perhaps the most perplexing evening activity comes much closer to bed time.

 

They are a time when all logical sensibilities go out the window and hubby regresses to a 5 year old child. Ok, yes this one is very specific to hubby but, that is after all why I write this blog, so I had to fit it in somewhere!  Apparently there is an acceptable window in which you can retire to bed for the evening.  You can not, under any circumstances, go to bed earlier than said window.   Let’s take last night for example.   The dog got hubby up WAY early yesterday morning so all day he complained about how tired he was.  Fast forward to last night and we are snuggled on the couch…. shockingly no remote dance necessary since we like the same shows on Monday nights…  Anyhooo,   hubby is visibly tired.  He states he’s tired.  I look over at him and he’s asleep on the couch.  I say to him… “Hon, why don’t you go up to bed?”  “It’s too early” he responds.   Hmmmmm, too early?  Too early for what, I wonder?    I’m of the mindset that you sleep when you’re tired, you go to bed when you’re tired.  But apparently hubby has other ideas.    “It’s too early to go to bed” he repeats.   “But you’re asleep here on the couch!”.  “Yes, I know, I’m incredibly tired”.   “But you won’t go to bed?”  I know, it’s silly of me to ask this…   “No, I can’t go to bed yet, it’s too early.”   And, then 10 minutes later, he’s asleep on the couch again.   Apparently Bed Time is a firm time, and cannot be entered into prematurely.  I cannot believe, after 40 years of life, I didn’t learn this until just now.

 

Thank you hubby for always teaching me something new each and every day……………..

 

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Hubby ordered sausage & pepper pizza 2 nights ago.

 

Now for a normal person, this wouldn’t be worth blogging about BUT since it was hubby and it goes against virtually everything he believes in, I had to put it out there into the blogosphere to try to solicit some sympathy.  Because, for my life, I cannot figure this man out.

 

If you don’t understand why this would matter, you should read this post:  You’re Gonna Ruin It.

 

It’s in that post where I first shared hubby’s aversion to “contaminating” his cheese pizza with anything but cheese.   This has been an on-going battle since the day I met hubby.  I like toppings on my pizza and he doesn’t.   As I mentioned in that last post, we haven’t been able to find a happy medium without ordering separate pizzas, because the minute I add any toppings to half the pizza, I have “ruined his plain cheese half with flavor & smells from my toppings”.  And, my dear blog readers, apparently this is just plain unacceptable!

 

BUT… just when you think you have him figured out, he likes to change things up on you.

 

So, we’re out to dinner with friends and he decides he wants a pizza.  The waiter comes over and he orders just that… a cheese pizza.  Then the waiter starts prodding him.  “Just cheese??” he says.   To which I reply, “He won’t eat anything but plain cheese….. everything else ruins his pizza!”  But the waiter isn’t letting this one pass, he says “wouldn’t you want some peppers, or maybe some onions, or how about some sausage?”.   And hubby looks at him, as if he’s contemplating these offerings.  I, on the other hand, am steadfast in my opinion of his pizza order.  I KNOW that hubby won’t contaminate his pizza.  I’ve had to have this debate for the last 10 years.  It always ends the same way…. nothing but cheese.

 

But hubby seems to waver.

 

The waiter presses on….. “We make a fantastic sausage & pepper pizza”.   Our friends join in… “They do make a great sausage & pepper pizza”.   I chime in… “What’s going on with you?  Are you about to be pressured into pizza with toppings????  You and I have argued this very topic for years and if you change you mind, right here, right now….. I may just have to kill you.”   

 

“OK” he says…. “sausage & peppers it is!”.   And then, I fainted, fell out of my chair, and they had to rush me to the hospital.     Did MY husband just order toppings on his pizza?  It couldn’t be?  We’ve discussed this ad nauseum,  I’ve begged, I’ve pleaded.  I’ve rationalized with him about the fact that separately, he likes sausage and he likes peppers.  All to no avail.  I must always eat just plain cheese unless I want to get my own personal pizza.  And now, here we are, and he’s succumbing to peer pressure at the restaurant.  WHERE WAS THIS WAITER 10 YEARS AGO???????????????

 

After he orders, again, I have to say to him… “Are you sure?  What’s going on with you?  Did you just cave in and order something you don’t really want?  Cause, we can still change this and put the universe back on it’s axis!”.   And, he looks at me and smugly replies…. “Nope, I’m totally happy.  I want sausage & peppers”.    And that moment folks, was when I realized that I wanted smack him right upside the head.    But instead, I gave him the reply that always seems to follow any ridiculous or impossible to understand behavior…….  “You know, you really are EXHAUSTING…………”

 

Now, I have no idea if this was an isolated incident (likely).  And, I’m having trouble celebrating that he’s finally opened his eyes to a new form of pizza since it was only once (probably).   And beyond all of that, sometimes I wonder if he chooses to be difficult just to test me……. and now, after 10 years of toying with me, he’s deemed it time to shake things up a bit.    And everyone wonders why I started a blog…………………………………

 

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