When he drives an hour and a half to a business conference and spends all day struggling to stay awake while he listens to boring speakers (I actually made that part up, but I’m also sure it’s true), but then WINS A KINDLE FIRE in a raffle, only to get home and find out that he’s not allowed to keep it because it’s worth more than his company’s $50 limit on gifts.
This is actually more tragic than funny, but I seem to be on a sorrowful streak ever since our vacuuming robot ate up a whole roll of toilet paper.
- When there are so many police cars and cops on our little dead-end street to arrest our neighbors that he can’t get through to our driveway and has to park half a block away.
- When our other neighbor (by coincidence, recently released from jail herself) takes up too much of his time by complaining about all the crime in the neighborhood caused by the neighbors whose arrests just blocked the street.
On a completely unrelated topic, here’s some advice for any would-be criminals who read this blog:
- If you want to put a threatening object on someone else’s property, wear gloves to make and transport the object. In light of your previous dozen arrests, it’s a pretty good bet that the police have your fingerprints.
- If you want to break into a car on the street, it’s a lot easier to simply reach in the car window that is already open and has a garbage bag taped over it , instead of trying to break the windshield by hitting it with a tire iron.
Yes, we do live in the big city. You’d never guess that when we look out our windows, all we can see is grassy hills and cows.
An entry in the “What was I thinking?” category…
I went to a “hoedown” fundraiser for Basketball Girl’s school last night, and when my husband got really tired and had to go home early, I came back for the live auction on my own. That might not have been such a good idea.
Released from his frugal force field, I bid on and won a big oak barrel full about 50 bottles of wine (plus a giant chocolate Easter Bunny, an enormous goblet full of Hershey’s Kisses, and this truly charming wine bottle holder.)
Keep in mind that I am mildly allergic to alcohol and so drink less than one bottle of wine a year. He drinks a little more, but neither of us is what you would call a big drinker.
Some of the wine is good, and some of it is of the screw-top variety. I’ve never heard of Bixler Vineyards, for instance, or Jest White, but listen to this copy from the Jest White Label: “This tempting ambrosia is blended from the most sensuous grape varietals lovingly pressed by the tender caresses of 69 nymphs dancing under the pale light of the full harvest moon.”
Now we’re trying to decide what to do with it all. Hosting a TYOB (Take Your Own Booze) party? Maybe we can corrupt some other charitable organization by donating a couple of dozen bottles. Clearly some kind of big wine blowout is in order.
Actual transcript of a conversation I just had with my husband:
Husband: “I notice that when it comes to the girls’ pets, you’re willing to do all kinds of things, but when it comes to MY pets…” (glowers at me.)
Me: “What pets are you talking about? You don’t have any pets. You don’t even like pets.”
Husband: “My WORMS. Just don’t hate on my worms.”
It’s true, I admit it. I’ve been dragging my feet a little on our annual Christmas letter. To be more precise, I’ve been dragging them since November of 2008.
My husband always starts his annual Christmas letter harassment planning campaign right about when I’m arriving home from the grocery store with 20 bags of food for Thanksgiving dinner. I always say in my most least grouchy voice that I can’t possibly think about the Christmas letter until after Thanksgiving. My husband fires a volley over my bow by gathering some clever cartoons and quotes for our annual page of witty stuff thought of by other people, writes a paragraph or two about his staggeringly productive and useful year (this is not an exaggeration — he is terrifyingly productive), and emails it to me on Friday after Thanksgiving with a reminder that I have solemnly promised to have the whole thing out the door before the New Year.
Next thing I know, it’s Valentine’s day, which makes calling it a “Christmas” letter a lot more difficult. Usually I pull myself together and get the letter done before Easter, but this year one thing led to another, and now it’s suddenly the middle of July. At this point the whole thing is looking just a little ridiculous. Last year is already fading into the mists of my bad memory. But I did promise to do it, and while I’m often slow, I don’t like to rat out on a promise completely.
So here I am, ready to write. I’ll let you know how it turns out.
Read in this morning’s advice column: “We became pregnant.”
Excuse me? If “we” were guaranteed to experience morning sickness and 30 hours of back labor, this turn of phrase might be just a little less annoying. But not much.
1. Vanity license plates that demonstrate an insufficient level of irony. Example: a license plate on a black BMW that says BLKBMR. If you’re going to get a vanity plate, please do it with a little panache.
2. Waiting for a child at the bus stop who arrives late because the bus driver got a speeding ticket. It goes without saying that this only happens on a day when you are already late for your dentist appointment.
1. Women who say things like this about men:
“The male is a domestic animal which, if treated with firmness, can be trained to do most things.”
– Jilly Cooper
2. Dropping your earbud into your coffee and having to listen to music with one soggy ear for the rest of the morning. (This actually happened to me, not him, but I feel pretty sure he would find it annoying.)