Friday, October 14, 2011

A Farewell To Romance

Afternoon Readers,

     On the days when I'm lying on the floor pretending my stomach's flat, I often find myself reminiscing about the days when our relationship was young -me and Husband's, not me and my stomach's. The romance, the excitement, the hours of sitting around and pretending we were really busy when we didn't know the meaning of the word. He'd look into my eyes and feign attention while I waxed poetic on the dangers of going from brunette to blond. I'd agree that video games are a cornerstone to society. And I knew we'd forever be as cute as a baby seal eating birthday cake in a polka dotted hat....until a couple days ago, when Husband jumped and yelled...
     "What is that?" Horror struck, he pointed at something across the room.

     Without thinking, I jumped over the pillows and landed in his lap. "What? What is it? I'll get the kids and we'll head to the country like we talked about."

     Grimacing, he scooted away from me. "It's not zombies, it's-"

     "A spider?" I scrabbled up the couch and got in a defensive position. "I can't reach my gear, from here. I'll keep a look out, you run and get my sword. You'll know the one, it'll be glowing blue. Be sure to say the password first. If you can remember "Hamster Quandary", you shouldn't have any trouble getting it out of the stone. Well, don't just sit there."

     His look of disgust hadn't faded. "It's not a spider."

     "Then what? You can't just run disaster drills when I'm not rea-"

     He inched closer to the end of the couch and gesticulated wildly. "Your feet."

     "My feet?"

     "You're feet, woman. Your feet. They're filthy."

     I looked at my soles. "Actually, I'd call it a beautiful shade of midnight reflecting off a lake."

     "Ugh...seriously, how did you get them that dirty?"

     Propping them up on the table, I tilted my toes in his direction. "I spend almost the entire day barefoot. Do the math. The floors get dirty, trips through the garage, one o'clock mud wrestling. We do everything together. Kind of like Chips, except I always tell my feet I'm the Erik Estrada. I refuse to be Ponch. What do you want from me?"

     "Clean feet."

     "We can't have everything we want."

     "But, you could go wash them."

     "I will."

     "When?"

     "Before my next birthday, but after the next commercial, but sometime between now and the holiday season..."

     We've definitely moved out of baby seal territory....

Until Next Time, Readers!