I’m Not the Problem Here

It’s been… however many months since a dozen fancy cupcakes saved me from a tropological death.

box of six beautifully decorated gourmet cupcakes; three pink roses with pearls, three sugary snowballs

The “please don’t hate me” assortment.

You’ve probably forgotten all about certain promises, but I have not. Because I’m… you know. Husband, on the other hand, doesn’t know me at all.


Setting:
A restaurant. I have—as is our custom—already started two failed conversations, then stared at him until he realized it was his goddamned turn.

silent dinner date

Every time we go out we look like the most awkward first date ever.

Side note—I can’t help but notice that we have wonderful, amazing, entertaining conversations when my hair is in pigtails and I’m covered in cat hair, snuggled under a heating blanket (omigosh you guys, this thing is the best thing and we have solved the problem of how to warm a corpse) on my own damned couch, sipping my undefeated cocoa, yet we continue to struggle in restaurants. Hell, we have better conversations while one or both of us are stark naked than we do in restaurants. Clearly we are not the problem here—the common element, by scientific process of elimination and whatnot, is restaurants. Restaurants, you are on notice: get your shit together or people are going to stop going out! It happened to bookstores, it’s happening to other retailers, and you are not immune. If I can have a great conversation with my husband at home, on my couch, in yoga pants and fuzzy socks while covered in fur and eating food that was brought to our door by an anonymous stranger, that is in every way better than what you’re offering.
Where was I?
Right, in a restaurant. Where my husband had finally decided to start talking. Only…

HIM: (talking)
ME: Mmm-hmm (messaging on phone)
HIM: (stops, stares)
ME: (puts phone down) Sorry, that was Audrey. She used a high-lift blonde instead of the clear for color remove.*
HIM: Okay…
ME: (nodding) I’ve done it a couple of times. It’s not a big deal, but it does turn your hair that swampy green.
HIM: (remembering) Oh yeah!
ME: Right. So she freaked out a little. Sent me a picture saying, “so this happened.” I’ve got her talked down now.
PHONE: (dings)
ME: (reading) Yeah, she’s gonna live with it for a few days and go in again with the clear…
HIM: Well I’m glad she’s got you right here for her. Two states away.
ME: (puts phone down) You knew this about me. I’m an excellent long-distance friend!
HIM: (sighs, nods)
Silly man.
But I did the good and wifely thing and put my phone aside to pay attention to him while he talked about work stuff.

scrolling text repeats: BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH...
Oh! Update! Remember the “sexy” rubber? I think he said they’re totally making that—I know some of you cared whether a rubber thing had Kevlar in it. On the other hand, I might have misunderstood or misheard him, because apparently that’s a thing I do in restaurants now…

HIM: So I got an email today I got really excited about, for about ten minutes. But then it looks like it won’t happen.
ME: (ponders disappointing fries) Oh?
HIM: Yeah, it was a “yay!” then ten minutes later “oh, we’ll find you somewhere else” sort of thing.
ME: (glances at phone again)
HIM: Blah blah blah testing blah blah engineerish part thingywhatsit Minneapolis—
ME: (suddenly alert)
HIM: And that was my reaction.
ME: Road trip!
HIM: No, we’d fly.
ME: (deflates)
HIM: Because it’s too far to drive now. It’d mean an overnight—
ME: But we could stay with friends!
HIM: Maybe…
ME: Oooh yes! Yesyesyesyesyes!
HIM: Or we could just buy you a ticket too. We’d have to see how they wanted to send me.
ME: (already planning friend visits in at least two cities)
HIM: But then they decided no.
ME: WHAT?!
HIM: I started the story with that information!
ME: (glare of outraged betrayal) Nuh—
HIM: I did; I said I was excited for about ten minutes but then they said no—
ME: Well obviously I didn’t notice that part!
HIM: Then I don’t know how to have a conversation with you—
ME: —because I’m stupid!
HIM: —if you’re not even going to—
ME: And I was worried about Audrey’s hair!
HIM:
ME:
HIM: Okay. That’s understandable.
Her hair is fine now, don’t worry. I mean, it’s not as great as mine:red and green Christmas hair
But let’s face it: very few people have what it takes to jingle this hard.
* People who either don’t color their hair with fashion colors/direct dyes or who don’t do it yourselves: this information is of no interest to you and I’m aware of that.** But I’m committed to reporting the full truth of our moments to you and also I tried cutting that bit out and believe it or not it made the rest more confusing. So please just accept that there was a right way and a slightly wrong way and Audrey made the mistake that almost everyone (who does this to their head) makes at some point.
** People who do color your own hair with marvelous fashion colors using direct dyes: if you are attempting to use bleach (or any of those kits that claim not to contain bleach but somehow “lighten” your hair) to remove that color, you are doing it wrong and hurting your hair in the process. Message me and I will change your life forever.

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3 comments on “I’m Not the Problem Here

  1. I’m imagining you with the same facial expression I get when my husband starts talking about government aviation regulations. Maybe it’s me, but I swear he starts to sound like that teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons.
    Way to jingle hard. I bet your friend’s green wasn’t anywhere near as festive….

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Gale says:

    Holy housecat housesh!t.

    Okay, I don’t know what it is, either. Some days are just that way.

    Like

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