What’s your fucking deal?
No, I’m being serious here. And—to avoid confusion—this time I’m speaking directly to the citizens of Missouri, as opposed to the state itself (we’ll get back to you, I’m sure).
When last I left you, I was not going to be a sky pirate captain because my husband is a quitter—a died-in-the-wool giver-upper who never supports my dreams.
I am, as it happens, still not a sky pirate captain.
I am, however, a person who has literally paid for a hotel by the hour, (though I’m sure the good people at Ramada don’t advertise this service) upgraded herself out of the best flight ever, and—because I love you—snapped a photo of the most mockable woman in all of Georgia.
Here’s what happened:
It is a fact universally acknowledged that husbands—not men, mind you, but husbands, who must hold purses and sit in designated creepy chairs or husband playpens—hate shopping.
Husband contends that the actual issue is that he sees no reason to shop, ever; I shop, he claims, while he buys things.
But, whatever the reason—and I’m sure we can agree it can’t possibly be anything to do with my sunny self—I’ve begun to suspect he’s particularly reluctant to shop with me.
We’ve been over the shopping thing, and the reasons why he doesn’t take me with him. You’re all familiar with his rules and how boring he makes shopping, and his aversion to awesome, and you know as well as I do that he only complains about my presence and the things I do when I’m there.
Brace yourselves, because I just got in trouble for not being there.
Being a person who sees the humor in everything, and can laugh at just about any situation, I read a lot of humor—both because I’ll find the funny bits of something that is only incidentally funny and because I seek out the writings of funny people. Thus I often find myself wondering what it must be like to know them personally; I imagine their spouse must constantly be in stitches, their friends and family must tell everyone that they know just the funniest person alive, etc.
This explains why I resisted blogging for so long, and resisted the idea of calling it a humor blog for longer still: in my mind a humor writer was someone who must be dazzling in person, always “on,” entertaining in every moment and aspect of their lives. The sort of person who couldn’t go for a drink without having an adventure, who would go for a walk and end up in the wrong country.
You know how it turned out, because you’re here: at the nagging insistence of a few beloved friends, I did the thing and here we are and you know I’m glad. But… I still worry that I’m not quite in the mold, you know?
Offspring went on a mini-break with some friends—paintballing, Call of Duty, Axis and Allies*… basically a war games long weekend—giving me and Husband a chance to test drive this thing without him. See how we get on when it’s just the two of us. Make sure our marriage won’t be a casualty of the infamous Empty Nest Syndrome.
I’m glad to report it seems we actually like each other after all.
We did learn a few things the first couple of days that were surprising.