If it isn't bad enough I'm subjected to farting play-wrestling with the knowledge that my neighbors can hear my sons' primordial screeches of flatulence domination, just 45 minutes later I was forced to watch testosterone-overdose shows, like Myth Busters.
What the hell, people? We have two T.V.s in this house. I don't know how I always end up having to watch this male stuff on the bigger T.V. Except there's some ideal called "democracy" that's deeply rooted in our culture and these primordial farting heathens take advantage of it. Damn all that homeschooling and learning shit. I refuse to watch TV from the bunk beds in the children's room. It's only 720 dpi, for god's sake!
I've had some physical problems lately. I hate to mention it since I don't like to give attention to such things, but it's been odd pains, like in my breasts and shoulder and back. I researched it a bit, and if you're one of those kooky types that believe pains and illness have a psychological root (and I totally am one of those kooks), the pains are related to me not expressing my femininity.
Well, no duh. How am I to express femininity when I can only watch half of a chick flick once every six weeks when they all go for a hair cut?
I decided I had to take a stand. For my health. Enough is enough, and it's my boobs we're talking about.
Wally and I spent an afternoon landscaping our backyard. Since it required digging up 740 cubic feet of grass and dirt, it was obviously labor-intensive and not the kind of labor-intensive that sounds very feminine, if you ask me. So when Wally turned to me, wondering aloud when I was going to have a turn with the shovel, I told him I was embracing my femininity at the moment. Since this decision also allowed Wally to embrace his masculinity, it killed two birds with one stone, so I don't know why he rolled his eyes at me and muttered unintelligible things under his breath.
And then a fire ant got into my bra and bit me on the boob during this landscape work.
What is the Universe trying to tell me now?
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marriage. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Monday, February 21, 2011
I'm So Sexy It's Funny
The other week I went out to dinner with two friends and left Wally at home with the boys. During the middle of the week. AND! I didn't even have a dinner planned for the boys. I know, how cruel and selfish can I get? Never mind you, fellas, mommy's going out with friends for fancy appetizers and cocktails and has no time to think of your nutrition.
It's so rare now that I can get out and away from children and get to be with adults ONLY that when the opportunity finally arises once every blue quarter moon, I become so obsessed with the surreality that I forget I have children to feed. This forgetfulness may also be slightly influenced by repressed passive-aggressive feelings that Wally gets to spend HOURS upon HOURS with adults, speaking of things other than birds, birds, birds, and Nintendo. Now he too can spend time fielding 155,000 questions and observations about birds while coordinating hot pans, boiling water, and sharp knives with Super Mario blaring in the background!
Okay, who the fuck am I kidding? He took the boys to Chick-Fil-A. But what do I care? I'm out with friends, talking over cocktails and shrimp and Spanish olives! Or maybe it was Greek olives, I don't know. All I know is I DIDN'T COOK IT and I LOVE FANCY OLIVES. And then my brain short circuits from the utter adult-ness of the evening.
Then something odd happened at this dinner and I couldn't wait to tell Wally about it when I got home.
Boy, when I tell him about this it will remind him that I'm still a woman and more than just a stay-at-home mom and cook!
Heather drives home later that evening.
Me: Guess what happened tonight!?
Wally: What?
Me: A guy hit tried to hit on me tonight! He came up to us and said he particularly liked women with black hair.
Wally laughs. This is not the reaction I expected.
Wally: Was he old?
Me: Well, yeah, he was a little older.
Wally laughs harder.
The fuck? This is not Wally remembering I'm more than a mom and cook and that other men might still find me attractive. In fact, the idea is so absurd to him that HE'S LAUGHING AT ME. This can't be tolerated.
Me: That's not all! When he realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with us, he said he HAD to go to the bathroom and Susan figured he was going to to the bathroom to beat off.
Wally almost falls out of bed, he's laughing so hard now. This is one of those moments when you wish you didn't have moral objections to throwing hard objects at your spouse, because I was standing in our dressing area with the hair dryer in reach and I have damn good aim.
It's so rare now that I can get out and away from children and get to be with adults ONLY that when the opportunity finally arises once every blue quarter moon, I become so obsessed with the surreality that I forget I have children to feed. This forgetfulness may also be slightly influenced by repressed passive-aggressive feelings that Wally gets to spend HOURS upon HOURS with adults, speaking of things other than birds, birds, birds, and Nintendo. Now he too can spend time fielding 155,000 questions and observations about birds while coordinating hot pans, boiling water, and sharp knives with Super Mario blaring in the background!
Okay, who the fuck am I kidding? He took the boys to Chick-Fil-A. But what do I care? I'm out with friends, talking over cocktails and shrimp and Spanish olives! Or maybe it was Greek olives, I don't know. All I know is I DIDN'T COOK IT and I LOVE FANCY OLIVES. And then my brain short circuits from the utter adult-ness of the evening.
Then something odd happened at this dinner and I couldn't wait to tell Wally about it when I got home.
Boy, when I tell him about this it will remind him that I'm still a woman and more than just a stay-at-home mom and cook!
Heather drives home later that evening.
Me: Guess what happened tonight!?
Wally: What?
Me: A guy hit tried to hit on me tonight! He came up to us and said he particularly liked women with black hair.
Wally laughs. This is not the reaction I expected.
Wally: Was he old?
Me: Well, yeah, he was a little older.
Wally laughs harder.
The fuck? This is not Wally remembering I'm more than a mom and cook and that other men might still find me attractive. In fact, the idea is so absurd to him that HE'S LAUGHING AT ME. This can't be tolerated.
Me: That's not all! When he realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with us, he said he HAD to go to the bathroom and Susan figured he was going to to the bathroom to beat off.
Wally almost falls out of bed, he's laughing so hard now. This is one of those moments when you wish you didn't have moral objections to throwing hard objects at your spouse, because I was standing in our dressing area with the hair dryer in reach and I have damn good aim.
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