Do you ever think about the things you wish you could have done with your life and get so sad, you feel like you're at the bottom of a pit you'll never get out of?
I'm writing this on behalf of my husband. He's not all that "social media savvy," so he's dictating and I'm typing. These are all his answers, given while playing Space Engineers. So without further ado...
How to fix a sandwich like a third grader.
Step one: Take the ham and cheese out of the fridge. Step two: Complain that you can't find the bread in the pantry, even though it's already on the counter, six inches from where you sat the meat and cheese. Step three: Realize the bread was there the whole time, and smack yourself in the forehead while saying "Silly me! It was there the whole time!" Repeat this step until a parent acknowledges your forehead smacking and silliness. Step four: Put meat on your sandwich, then spend the next seven minutes herding the cats so you can split a piece of ham between them. Step five: Get mad at the fly taking advantage of your unattended sandwich. Step six: Put cheese on your sandwich, then spin around the kitchen with your arms out for thirty-eight seconds. Step seven: Trip over rabbits, who have been attracted by your spinning and flailing. Stop to pet them and give them each a veggie treat from the fridge. Step eight: Step on a sandbur, then have Mom pull it out. Step nine: Shoo off that pesky fly again, then put the top bread slice on your sandwich. Step ten: Eat exactly four bites of your sandwich and declare yourself full. Hand the rest to Daddy, then ask for ice cream. Be disappointed when you're told no. Usually, I let myself live with the delusion that I'm well-spoken, charismatic, and an all-around likable woman in person.
And then, now and again, I'm reminded of just how bizarrely awkward I really am. *I'm changing his name to save his identity, but anyone who knows me personally knows who he is.
Mark and I started dating in 1998, during my senior year of high school. He was a year older than me, and we'd met and become friends the year prior, during his senior year. Also, by the time we finally started dating, we had started a band together with me on bass, him on guitar and vocals, and another friend on drums. We practiced several times a week, played gigs on the weekends, and went out on dates nearly every night. I graduated high school and immediately went into college with him. I was mowing earlier, and -- as I'm wont to do when I'm stuck with my own thoughts, enveloped in a haze of mosquitoes, pollen, and gas fumes -- I started thinking about the word "the." More specifically, I was thinking about how the word "the" relates to each of us. We all have a "the" or three attached to our names. And those "the"s define who we are to other people, and can change throughout our lives.
Today, after a half-day at work, began Billy's first vacation in about 4 years. I pray to whichever invisible deity is listening that today's 8-hour kerfuffle isn't a sign of what the next 9 days are gonna be like.
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Don't Pick Your Nose at the Dinner TableAuthorWife. Mom. Atheist. Photographer. Science and History enthusiast. Categories
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May 2015
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