So I think I've been tagged about a million times by a lot of people, which, as I mentioned before, reminds me a lot of second grade (see here). I'm flattered, but probably not enough to search back through their blogs to find out which of the many lists of questions I am supposed to answer.
I seem to remember something from Kinzy about answering questions about the person I'm married to.
(I might as well admit it… I only remember it because she got her own husband's age wrong, which I think is funny. And he read it and commented on it, which is even funnier, especially when you know him. And he included some sexual humor in the comment, which is funny, too, but not at all unexpected, especially when you know him. And I think there were too many commas in that last sentence.)
I could pretty much bear my testimony about him for several paragraphs, including all the necessary "with every fiber of my being" and "righteous eternal companion" and "nourish and strengthen our bodies" references. But, it's hard to make the font visually represent my voice rising in pitch secondary to spiritually-induced tears, so I'll leave you be.
Instead, I'll tell you a parable.
And behold, the mighty Husband found himself in the neighborhood of my father's father. And he did endeavor to take my father's father out for lunch to enjoy some delicious french fries, because of the love he hath for my father's father and the love which my father's father doth have for french fries.
But behold, my father's father was without his residence due to the celebration of the day of the Veteran, and also could not enjoy the precious french fries because of the looming intestinal workup scheduled for the day after the day of the Veteran. And the mighty Husband did mourn.
And the mighty Husband did call me, yea even his Lady, and did entreat me to enjoy some Quiznos with him, for which he had stolen a coupon from the house of my mother on the Sabbath day. Nevertheless we did go. And we did enjoy a Chicken Carbonara with no mushrooms. And there was much rejoicing.
And the mighty Husband did tell his Lady that he liked her new shiny red shoes which her mother had granted unto her as celebration on the day of her birth. And when the Lady did unabashedly fish for compliments on the shoes (for she was sore afraid that they did resemble old person shoes) the Husband did profess unto her that she looked "hot".
See? It's like he's better than french fries or something.
And that's why I waited patiently outside the public boy bathroom for him to come out even though I work here and felt a little weird. I busied myself by staring at the fake plant and wondering why they make the leaves on the fake plant so shiny if they want people to think it's real. Or maybe they don’t. But anyway, he smooched me after he was done so it was all worth it.
Even the part about how my new shiny red shoes are hurting my achilles heel.
P.S.- Dad, "every fiber of my being"? Done and done.
P.P.S- Grandpa, Paddy wants some french fries with you. And sorry your first appearance on el blog involves your doctor's appointment.