An Afternoon Snack

The husband and I rarely go out to eat. We are usually in the kitchen concocting our own dinners and recipes. Today, however, we decided we would treat ourselves and go out to lunch. (mostly because we had a gift card and today seemed as good a day as any to use it)

When we go out to eat, we usually order in one of two ways. We either order two or three appetizers to split or one entree to split. We never order drinks or dessert. And we always come home with left-overs. But as I said, we had a gift card so we ordered uncharacteristically and decided to get 3 appetizers and an entree and a dessert. I'm sure we looked quite ridiculous as we sat at a table for two with enough food to feed at least four.

We sat there, eating the deliciousness of pizza, onion rings, lettuce wraps, salad, soup and a sandwich. The husband was working on the lettuce wraps while I sat with half a sandwich in my hand. As is usual, as we sat eating neither of us were talking. All of a sudden the husband turns to me and asks, "Is your other hand clean?"

I looked down to inspect the hand that was not holding any food. Puzzled as to why he was asking me this I reply "Yes."

"Then can you scratch my left nipple?"

I looked at him with concern, trying to decode his question. But the husband was completely serious, there were no signs of mischief across his face. My face however was a mix between confusion, horror, and utter embarrassment at the thought of reaching over and scratching his left nipple in a crowded restaurant.

At this point I completely lost it. I could not help but burst into laughter at this ridiculous notion. It wasn't just a ha-ha laugh. It was the kind where you can't breathe and your face is all contorted into a squinty mess. It's the kind where people might actually think you are dying because you turn all red from lack of oxygen and you can't make any noise. Did he really think I was going to put my hand up his shirt to scratch his nipple?

Yes, he did because as I started laughing he was almost hurt that I was laughing instead of agreeing to his request.

Right about then was when the husband realized how slightly inappropriate it might be for me to be seen publicy feeling up my husband and he too started laughing hysterically.

In between gasps for air he would say to me "No seriously, it's itching really bad."

Which only made me laugh harder. During one of the last pleas for me to please just scratch it, he couldn't help laughing, which in turn sent food shooting out of his mouth across the table.

We were a mess.

He eventually stuck his own hand up his shirt and scratched his itchy nipple. And then he complained that it hurt because he was scratching it.

On the way home he kept reminding me how unkind I was not to scratch his nipple. He even claims that he was in so much pain that he thought he was going to die.

When we got home he was still complaining that his nipple hurt. He thought it needed lotion so he asked me to put some on for him. As I did and rubbed it in soothingly, he started to whimper and saying in a panic "It burns! It burns!"

Again I could not control myself and went into hysterics on the floor. 

Romance is

Valentines Day. So much hype. Really, so much pressure from women that they put on their men. The husband does not believe in celebrating Hallmark holidays and I don't care one way or the other. It truly does not bother me that we had a normal day on Sunday, spent walking the mall and eating a nice lunch with my parents.

I had to field too many questions and encountered countless awkward situations concerning the subject of Valentines Day. And everyone's questions and comments are all the same:

Them: What are you and your husband doing for Valentines Day?
Me: Nothing.
Them: Nothing? *serious looks of concern would be all over their faces at this point* Why not?
Me: It's not really a big deal to me. *shrugging my shoulders* We don't believe in Valentine's Day.

I know people at this point are thinking that my husband is either: cheap, unromantic, insensitive or all three. I mean, how dare he neglect to buy me expensive jewelry and overpriced chocolates right?

No.

Let's face it, women are bitchy and whiny and demanding. And who puts up with that everyday? Our husbands. It's amazing I'm even married when I think back to how I act one week out of every month.

My husband does so much for me everyday. This morning I was running late, so the husband made my lunch. He was the one that made sure our taxes were put together and taken care of. He is the one that designs and thinks about dinner for the week. He is the one that scrubs our toilets and shower because he knows how much I hate sticking my hand in those disgusting crevices. He is the one that has the full time job and pays all our bills every month.

And do I even think to thank him for these things? These seemingly simplistic tasks are the ones that my man does to let me know he cares.

So this is to you my love.

The Cookie Monster

After making all those lovely cookies, the husband and I were excited to pass them out. Naturally. I wanted to brag about how many hours we spent in the kitchen making and packaging those stupid cookies share the wonnderful goodness that was our Christmas goodie package. Our friends and families raved about how lovely, chewy and delicious our goodies were. It made my heart all warm and fuzzy.

Until.

Our neighbors. I am going to seriously reconsider handing out our blood, sweat and tears to the neighbors next year. They are the reason I had to resort to turning into the cookie monster. (The old cookie monster, when he actually ate cookies and didn't try to convince little children to eat their vegetables.) It wasn't my fault. I had no choice. They made me do it.

It's like when you're on your period and somebody says something stupid. The hormones take over and you flip out, yelling frantically that they are an idiot. Them being an ignorant fool justifies your yelling and overreacting. It was like that.

The husband and I thought we were being neighborly when we walked next door to our neighbor to the right. They are a nice couple with two little kids, one of which has wandered into our garage on a number of occassions to ask all sorts of 3 year old questions:

Boy Neighbor: "Hi!"
Me: "Hi David. How are you today?"
Boy Neighbor: "Good. What are you doing?"
Me: "Unloading groceries."
Boy Neighbor: "Why?"
Me: "Because they have to go in the fridge or they will go bad."
Boy Neighbor: "Why?"

And then start the questions. He asks why about everything. Why is the husband playing on the computer. Why am I planting plants in the patio. Why don't we have any pets. They never stop. But I put up with it because he's just so darn cute.

Nonetheless, they are very nice and I am pretty sure their kid likes us. So we walk next door on Christmas Eve. The neighbor husband answers the door and with it comes noise from talking, tv and yummy smells wafting from the kitchen. (The husband wanted no part in this, so he is standing by the patio gate while I was the one to knock at the door and do all the talking.) I tell him that we baked some cookies and just wanted to say happy holidays.

The look on his face was one of surprise. I could see him thinking "Oh no, I didn't get them anything. Why did they bake us cookies? What can I give them in return?" As he is looking around he says, "Why don't you come in?"

I can see the numerous family members packed into his living room and more as you look toward the kitchen. I know he's only asking because we brought him a present and he doesn't have one for us.

I start to say "Oh no, that's ok we really have to..."

But before I can say it, the husband is suddenly at my side, nudging me inside the door while saying "OK." I wanted to kill him.

As we stood in the entry way of their home, their relatives came up one by one to introduce themselves. There were a lot of them. It was like they were multiplying before our eyes. After saying hello we stood in awkward silence for what felt like a year until the neighbor told us we should come back tomorrow for some homemade Christmas food that his mom was cooking and let us go back home.

It was the most awkward 3 minutes of my life.

Because of our wonderful experience with the neighbors to the right, I was leery to go to the neighbors to the left. I didn't want to be invited into their home to have another one of those moments. A moment where we are both smiling a fake smile because we are thinking about what we can possibly say. After all, we hardly know each other. We've met a handful of times. And it doesn't help that this neighbor in particular always seems to look angry. So we both just stand there, waiting for someone to say that they have something to go do so we can both go back to the safety of our own home.

We knocked, but nobody answered. It was a relief and yet not because we knew that meant we had to go back and try again.

I went next door probably 3 more times with no luck. Then one night all their lights were on. This was a good sign. I could finally get rid of these cookies and feel better about myself for being a good neighbor. The husband had refused to go with me since the first time so I walked next door on my own.

I knocked. No answer. I knocked again a little louder thinking maybe they didn't hear me. Still no answer. My mind goes through possible scenarios: Maybe the wife isn't home and the husband is in the shower. Or they are in the garage working on their car so they can't hear my kock. Still possible, they are superheros off saving the world from a giant sea monster that looks like a spider. (I hate spiders.) Since they are doing me the world such a favor, I will forgive them for not answering the door.

I start walking back to my house, get to the gate and then the porch light turns on. Oh, I guess they aren't saving the world afterall. I assume they are looking at me through the peep hole. They should recognize that I am their neighbor holding a bag full of cookies for them. As I wait for them to open the door, I slowly realize that they aren't going to. They are mocking me through the peep hole, I can feel their eyes burning into my flesh.

I'm pissed. How dare they refuse to open the door to their neighbor! I can't believe they are that malicious.

I had made up my mind to show them! As soon as I was inside the door I started devouring their cookies.

Possibly the worst part about it, is now I see them all. the. time. I see them walking to the mail box, leaving the same time I am, at the grocery store. I mean really. Are they stalking me? Because the cookies are long gone by now.

At the same time I get a little chuckle that I enjoyed my yummy goodness that was our Christmas care package.