$75 and a Concussion...and a Sunburn on My Feet

Our neighborhood was having a garage sale today, and my spousal unit wanted to participate. She’d never done one before, so she was very interested to see how it would go. We invited my mom up to help us, and we set about digging through boxes in the attic to find relics from the past that we could live without. My spousal unit also contributed about fifty blouses and handbags to the cause, which probably only amounted to about one percent of the overall total in her closet.

So, armed with two racks of clothes and handbags and three tables full of glasses, books, puzzles, and assorted knickknacks we prepared for the horde to descend upon us. It didn’t take long for the first person to arrive, ten minutes before the garage sale started. But it was quite a bit longer for the next person. After that, they came in sporadic bursts over the next few hours. Oddly enough, the knickknacks sold better than anything else.

My son was soon bored of sitting around and waiting, so I got him a little spade, and we started digging around in the flower bed. All of a sudden, a giant gust of wind blew across the driveway, caught the clothes rack overloaded with my spousal unit's blouses, and pulled it over directly on my head. The metal bar caught me right across the scalp and knocked me to the ground, covering my son and I both with clothes. It hurt, but I was able to shake it off and help get the displays back in order. We moved the clothes rack into the entrance of the garage to keep it from being caught by the wind again, and my son and I went back to digging in the dirt.

We had moved around to a different part of the flowerbed, when all of a sudden, another gust of wind blew across the driveway. This one caught the rack of purses and bags that my spousal unit had set up on the sidewalk, bringing it crashing down...right on my head...in the exact same spot. This time I was assisted by several shoppers, who were kind enough to dig me out of the pile of handbags on top of me and check to see if I was okay.

After that I was pretty much done with sitting in the flowerbed, so I moved inside to ice my head. I did trudge back outside later on to help wrap things up. All told we only made $75 for the event. Not a great haul, especially considering that my doctor bills will be more than that! And to top it all off, I discovered later on that I had gotten a sunburn on the tops of my feet in the shape of my flip-flops!

Corn on the Cob

My spousal unit made corn for dinner tonight. She gave everyone a cob except herself. I was a little suspicious about this, and my mind went to the most logical reason…she had poisoned them. But the corn looked pretty tasty, so I decided to risk it. I have to say the strychnine added a little something to it.

The Tornado Party

I came downstairs this evening to find my spousal unit, mother-in-law, and son huddled up in the laundry room. They had pillows, drinks, and candles laid out on the dryer. And my son was watching a movie on the iPad. I asked my wife what was going on, and she replied that there was a tornado warning for our area for the next hour. I said, “And nobody thought to let me know?!”

Date Night...er...Morning

Yesterday evening, my spousal unit sent me a random article about a partial lunar eclipse that was happening that night…or actually early this morning. Her only comment was, “Are you game for this?!” Of course I was, as I always am. We love astronomical events like this.

What I didn’t realize was that it started at midnight and went for six hours with the peak hitting at around three a.m. When she told me that later on, my reply was, “I’m not staying up until three in the morning.” She agreed. So, we made a pact. If one of us got up around that time to use the bathroom (as inevitably happens almost every night), then that person would wake the other person up. If neither of us woke up, then it wasn’t meant to be.

At 2:35 a.m. exactly, my mind switched on. It wasn’t so much that I had to use the bathroom (although I definitely did the more I tried not to think about having to use the bathroom), but more just a sudden awareness of space and time around me. So, I pulled some warm clothes on and trudged outside to assess the eclipse situation. After all, there was no reason to wake up my spousal unit if we couldn’t see anything. It was a gorgeous night…er…morning; cool, crisp, and not a cloud in the sky. The eclipse was on full display, having turned 90% of the moon a rusty, red color. So, I trudged back inside to get backup.

It was awesome to sit in the driveway, freezing our backsides off, wrapped in multiple blankets, munching on mini cinnamon pinwheels…and just talk. We rarely get to do this because our son always interrupts us. It was like a date night. We laughed, we complained about our neighbor’s dog barking at the moon, and we watched the white part of the moon get smaller and smaller.

I don’t know too many people that would enjoy that or be willing to get up at three in the morning to watch an eclipse. It made me realize how special my spousal unit is and how lucky I am to be married to her. How many people can say they’ve had a date under the stars at three in the morning in the light of a rust-red moon?

Like a Rock

I have a running joke with my wife about the fact that I can't float on my back in the pool. Well, she thinks I'm joking when in fact I'm completely serious. She doesn't believe that a person is incapable of floating in water, even though I've repeatedly assured her that I sink like a stone. I've even demonstrated the phenomenon for her, but she told me that I was doing it wrong. I didn't realize there was a right and wrong way to sink to the bottom of the pool, but I guess I've mastered it.

Well today, I was watching The Big Bang Theory, and lo and behold, Sheldon admitted to have the exact same problem! He said the issue was that he had a higher than normal body density, which sounds completely reasonable and plausible. So now, I finally have a reason for my inability to float in the pool that my wife can't refute. It must be true, because not only did I see it on TV, but Dr. Sheldon Cooper is generally accepted as a genius, so he must know more than us.

The New Rug

I texted my spousal unit about a recent purchase I had made, and this is how the conversation went.

Me: I bought a new rug today.

Spousal Unit: Why would you buy a toupee, you’re not bald?

Me: No, it’s for upstairs.

Spousal Unit: That’s usually where you put a toupee, yes.

Me: Why are we talking about toupees?! You’re starting to make me feel self-conscious! I’m talking about a rug, as in a floor covering for my office upstairs.

Spousal Unit: Oh, well why didn’t you just say so.

Me: Sigh…

Unidentified Flying Pancakes

My wife was trying something new today for breakfast, so she decided to make these mini pancakes. But she made them in a muffin pan, so they were sort of flatish like a pancake but also sort of puffy like a muffin. The overall effect ended up looking like a UFO. So, throughout the entire breakfast, I imagined that I was some enormous cosmic deity, eating a fleet of UFOs as they came to attack me.

Dr. S and Mr. K

I found out today that apparently when your spouse has a PhD, you’re supposed to address them first in introductions and salutations. This wouldn’t be so odd if the man is the one because they normally go first, but if it’s the woman...

So since my spousal unit has a PhD, she would go first. However, since she didn’t take my last name, we wouldn’t be Dr. and Mr. K. We’d be Dr. S and Mr. K., which sounds odd, like we’re some kind of literary monster. A spin-off of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde maybe.

Paving the Way

My spousal unit's first grant application was accepted into consideration into the final stage today. She had applied to this grant without much hope of getting it, because it was for more experienced scientists, not one going for her first grant. But it was worth the experience to at least apply. And then this!

God has a plan for her. Not sure if it’s to get the grant or not yet, but it’s something to even make it this far. She didn’t have much hope, so it was a huge surprise. I told her that everyone said that a freshman would never win the Heisman Trophy until Johnny Manziel did it. When something is so good that you can’t possibly pass it up, it paves the way for a new way of thinking. Maybe this is her time to pave a new way of thinking about first-time investigators to get this grant.

Pillow Thief

While I was at my conference back in October, my wife decided to steal my pillows.  I came home to find them missing from their usual spot and located them nestled up on her side of the bed.  When I inquired about the alleged thievery that had taken place, she batted her eyelashes at me and simply said, “Baaabbbyyy, I was having trouble getting comfortable, and your pillow combination was perfect.  I have never slept so well.” 

Realizing that there was no way I could ask my pregnant wife for them back now, I asked, “Okay, and what am I supposed to do now?  I have no pillows.” 

She simply said, “There are some used ones in the closet, maybe you can get one of those.”

By “used” pillows, she means the broken-down-stuffing-has-been-equally-distributed-to-each-corner-of-the-pillow-no-longer-provides-any-support-whatsoever-probably-stinks-not-sure-why-we-even-kept-them pillows that have been banished to the top of the closet in cases of extreme emergencies.  And that is exactly where I now find myself…in a case of extreme emergency, constantly having to re-fluff and redistribute my used pillow into something that vaguely resembles a usable head and neck support, while failing miserably and waking up each day with a crick.

My pillow is so flat that I feel like I’m just sleeping on a pillow case.  My neck is situated at such a weird angle that I look like I’m trying to listen to my shoulder.  Which if it could talk would probably be asking, “What happened to the other perfectly-fluffed pillow that you had that supported us all perfectly and kept your ear the exact right distance away from me?!”  Touche, talking shoulder…touche.

Suggested Destination

My wife and I drove in to work a little later this morning, because she wasn’t feeling well and hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.  After dropping her off, I headed on to my office and decided to stop for gas before making my way inside the building.  I pumped my fuel and got back into the car and started it up.

When I start the car, my phone automatically connects to the Bluetooth.  Typically, the first thing it will do is anticipate where I want to go based on my current location and time of day and give me suggested directions to my next destination.  So, if I’m at home, then it will give me a little message from Maps, something like “38 min to get to work taking Long Prairie Rd, traffic is heavy.”  If I’m at work, then it usually gives me a message to UT Southwestern to pick up my wife.

However, today, it completely bypassed all of that and immediately said, “28 min to get home taking Long Prairie Rd, traffic is light.”  It was only 10:15 in the morning, and my phone already wanted me to go home!  I looked down at it and said, “I like where your head is at.”

The Surprise Massacre

This year I turned 40 years old, and my spousal unit and brother decided to band together to coordinate a surprise party for me.  Somehow, they actually managed to do it all in secret, none of the usual weak links blabbed about it, and I was actually surprised when it all went down.  The main factor that my spousal unit had going for her is that I trust her completely.  So, the endless stream of text messages with persons unknown that went on for weeks didn’t peak my suspicions.  Maybe some jealous husbands would have thought she had some sort of secret lover and would have broken her phone passcode to find out what was going on…but not me.

The second factor that she had going for her was being in cahoots with my brother.  He could do things in the background, like coordinating guests and ordering party supplies, so my spousal unit didn’t get caught doing that.  But even still, the whole affair was quite a well-planned operation, worthy of a military offensive.  My spousal unit pulled out all of the stops.  As I previously-stated, I am a trusting person, so I generally leave my phone sitting on the counter when I’m at home.  I don’t obsessively carry it around with me, so it’s easily-accessible at all hours of the day.  I also don’t lock it; because one, I have nothing to hide, and two, I get annoyed after the first effort to unlock it.  This gave my spousal unit the perfect opportunity.

The third factor that she had going for her is the fact that she’s pregnant, which gave her some cover excuse.  I didn’t think anything of it when she would get up at 2 o’clock in the morning and head into the den.  I thought she was just uncomfortable and needed to sit up on the couch, which was actually true on some nights, but she also used the same excuse to grab my phone off the counter and raid my contact list.  I would find out later that in addition to some of my sister-in-law’s family, my spousal unit had invited some of my friends from work, my friends from different states, my friends that lived on the other side of Texas, and even my old roommates from college that just happened to be visiting family for the holidays.  Unfortunately, not everyone could make it, but it’s the thought that counts, and my spousal unit pulled out all of the thoughts…er…stops.

So, the key to any good surprise birthday party is getting the naturally, home-bodied birthday boy out of the house for some extended period of time.  This allows the collaborators to set up decorations and get food, and allows the guests to sneak into the house unnoticed.  To truly pull this off well, the excuse has to be simple enough that you don’t have to make up a lot of details and elaborate enough that it involves extended period of time outside of the house.  Too many details are what makes people ask questions and be suspicious, which is bad.  You want people to have their guard down and not delve too deeply into the motivation behind suddenly needing to do…fill in the blank.

In this instance, my brother asked me to take him and my nieces to the mall to go shopping.  My spousal unit and sister-in-law decided to stay behind.  This was not suspicious, because my spousal unit is pregnant and often doesn’t feel well, and my sister-in-law is the type of person that would rather sit on her phone than participate in a physical activity.  It was my brother that almost let the cat out of the bag with his reason for why he wanted to go to the mall.  But it was still a simple enough request not to have my alarms going off, and any questions I might have had were squashed by my unconditional love for my nieces and my desire to make them happy.

So, we went to the mall.  I won’t bore you with those details, but needless to say, they stalled for hours by going into every…single…store.  Again, nothing unusual when shopping with young ladies.  When we finally left and headed home, it had grown dark outside.  The large volume of cars parked up and down the street is quite common in my neighborhood, so that didn’t even raise my suspicions.  By this point I was so oblivious, that even when I saw some strange kid walking up my driveway to my front door, I didn’t think anything of it.  I thought I recognized him as my friend’s son, but just assumed that maybe they were in town visiting family and had decided to make an unannounced stop at our house.  And that’s why the first words out of my mouth when I walked in the door, arms full of shopping bags, was, “Are we expecting someone…?”

A mob of people then jumped out from around the corner and yelled, “Surprise!!!”  Now, I must pause a moment and digress a little.  If you know me at all, then you know that I absolutely hate to be startled like this.  They say that when you’re properly motivated, you will either fight or take flight.  I am a fighter.  I will instinctively lash out at the perceived threat to my well-being.  So, it is a good thing for everyone involved that at that moment, I am not a carrier of a concealed handgun.  Because it could easily have turned into the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre up in that house.  I imagine the duplicit difficulty with either trying to explain to the police how a surprise birthday party turned into a mass murder or with trying to find a way to hide twenty-three bodies in a backyard the size of small closet.

But I did not go Al Capone on my party guests, and nobody was harmed in the making of my surprise party.  The house was decorated with “Vintage 1978” signs and banners, which was much better than that “Over the Hill” crap that most people get.  BBQ from Hard Eight was piled en masse on the stove top.  And a cake shaped like a tombstone, etched with the words “Here Lies His Youth” lay invitingly on the counter.

The night was spent eating and visiting with friends and family, some I had seen a month earlier and some I hadn’t seen in years.  I did my part; wearing a giant, black Mad Hatter hat with the number 40 on the side and bouncing from group to group to chat and express how grateful I was that they had come.  It was a great mix of people, not too many, but enough.  We had a variety of ages and personalities, and we even had a band of kids running around destroying things upstairs.  I was happy that each and every one of them was there.  But the grand surprise was when my old friend SM from Missouri walked into the door.  Apparently, he had hopped a flight at the last minute, armed with nothing but a backpack of supplies, to be here to celebrate with me.  I have not seen him for almost six years, so I was overwhelmed with joy at being able to pull him into a warm embrace.

All in all, not a bad surprise birthday party.  The only downside (if you can even call it that) is that I’ll be eating BBQ every meal for the next week!  I can’t thank my spousal unit and brother enough for putting it altogether for me.

HOV Me

Every day when I’m leaving the office to go pick up my spousal unit, I text her to let her know that I’m on the way.  Since the traffic between my office and hers is terrible in both directions at that time of day, I ask her to turn on the HOV, so we can get the discounted rate and zoom past the worst of the traffic.  It takes some time for it to kick in, so I have to get her to turn it on early to use it.

In order to place this request, I have simply resorted to two little words, “HOV me.”  After she turns it on, she sweetly sends back, “You are HOVed!!”  It’s cute, and it’s ours, and I love it.

The Couch

Yesterday, we went shopping for couches, which is something that we have been attempting to purchase unsuccessfully for years.  After 3 hours, my wife was so fed up with the process, that she impulsively bought the very next couch that I said was passable.  Unfortunately, it ended up being an extremely expensive purchase, so after the sales lady walked away, my wife said that she hoped that I enjoy my Christmas gift.  I quickly exclaimed that we needed to back that roller coaster up one minute.  How is it that somehow my wife got a new laptop for Christmas, courtesy of Black Friday, and I get the couches that everyone in the house gets to use?!

Well that ain’t happening.  If it’s my gift, then nobody else gets to sit on it!  I want free rein to sit in any seat I want any time I want.  If someone wants to park their tuches on MY couch, then I’m going to charge them rent by the hour.  I’m going to develop a webpage where they can sign up and enter their credit card information, so they can automatically be billed.  And there won’t be any proration either.  Any part of an hour is charged the whole hour!  I figured that my couch tariff should net me enough money to afford a laptop of my own next year.

Christmas Roulette

My spousal unit and I each ordered Christmas gifts this year from Amazon, using my wife’s Prime account to get the free shipping.  However, we forgot to put some indicator on the outside label to tell which ones are hers and which ones are mine.  This became blatantly apparent when the packages started to arrive in their non-descript brown boxes and white plastic packages…all with my wife’s lovely name adorning the outside.  So, we have now begun a game of Christmas roulette, as we try to tell what vaguely might be in the package, simply by squeezing and shaking it.  Ultimately, we just have to take a chance and open it, and hope that it’s not our own Christmas surprise from the other person.  With each package like the last loaded chamber of a six shooter, as we shakily draw the knife along the tape.  And each success is a breath of sweet relief, as we guess correctly.

Dessert First

My spousal unit and I went out to eat today to celebrate our 3^rd 15^th wedding anniversary.  By the time we finally got our food, we were starving, so we dug in like we hadn’t seen a meal in years.  It seems like the entire meal was still sliding down my throat by the time the first piece hit my stomach.  So, of course, I didn’t realize that I was already full halfway through…until it was too late.  By the time the last piece hit my stomach, I let out an audible groan.  I had to unbutton my pants just to keep from slouching in my chair.  I was miserable.  I looked across the table to see my spousal unit in the exact same state.

As we drove home, I told her that it was a shame that I had eaten so much, because I really wanted dessert.  To which my spousal unit replied, “Well, you don’t have to be hungry to eat dessert.  It doesn’t really have calories or fill you up.  That’s why a lot of people eat it first.”  Spoken like a true dessert connoisseur.  I am not sure that I agree with her logic, but I like where her head was going!

The One

My wife always tells people that she knew I was the one the first moment that she looked into my eyes.  While that’s definitely romantic, it took me a bit longer to figure it out.  I had just gotten out of an incredible relationship that had ended badly.  My heart was bruised, and trust was in short supply.  So, I wasn’t ready to just jump back in without looking.

A few months after we started officially dating (because we knew each other for months before my wife informed me that we were now officially dating), I got sick.  Really sick.  Stomach virus, food-poisoning sick, throwing up, no energy…sick.  I couldn’t move.  I just lay in my bed and moaned for days.  The only thing I could get down was soup, and it didn’t always stay with me long.  You get the idea.

I was helpless, and I was miserable.  I was definitely not at my best.  And yet, despite this, my wife never left my bedside.  She cared for me.  She fed me.  She cleaned up after me.  She fretted over me.  She even called the doctor to find out if there was anything else she could be doing.  All they said was, “Get him some Sprite.”  But even then, she called someone and asked them to bring it to her, because she didn’t want to leave me for even a moment.

And when I finally got better a few days later, I knew that she was the one.  Anyone that would stay with you and nurse you through something like that, when they had absolutely no obligation to do so, was a keeper.  For better and for worse.  If she loved me even then, then she’d love me through anything.  And that was the stability and certainty that I needed in my life after my last relationship.

So, it may not have been as romantic as my wife’s seeing it in my eyes, but she’s always been the one since that moment.

It Takes Two

Since I have been carpooling with my wife, we have been leaving the house later than when I drove myself.  I’ll leave you to extrapolate why that is.  But the inevitable consequence of leaving later is that you hit the seemingly-random, not-really-so-random sine wave of traffic.  For example, if we leave the house at 7:00 a.m., we’ll hit really bad traffic.  If we leave at 7:07 a.m., it’s virtually nothing.  If we leave at 7:15 a.m., we’ll hit really bad traffic.

Apparently, the majority of people can only leave at regular 15-minute intervals throughout the hour.  I’m not sure if this is because they are that OCD or because the controlling voice in their head requires precision.  Either way, it’s strange.  I, for one, leave the house when I’m ready.  That could be, and usually is, at any random time between 6:47 a.m. and 8:53 a.m.

To avoid the unfathomable masses of cars on the freeways, we have taken to driving in the Express Lane.  Yes, it costs money, but it is totally worth zooming by all of those stopped cars and shaving 35-60 minutes off our drive.  The only annoyance being when some truck gets in the Express Lane and decides that 55 mph is an acceptable speed for himself and the 32 cars backed up behind him.  Even then, we’re still moving.

The Express Lane has a different price for regular use versus HOV use.  For those of you unfamiliar, HOV is when you have two or more people in the car.  And this got me to thinking.  Why do they call it “HOV”?  I know it stands for “High-Occupancy Vehicle,” but doesn’t that sound a bit stuffy and scientific?  Why not make it more catchy?  Something that zings…something that grabs people’s attention and makes them smile.  Why don’t we call it, “It Takes Two”?  It means the same thing, and it can conjure music in someone’s head.  Maybe Marvin Gaye or Tina Turner…or if you’re like myself…Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock!

Monster Repellent

My spousal unit woke me up last night and told me that I was snoring.  She was trying to be nice about it, gently nudging me and speaking in the softest voice.  I don’t know what possessed me to say it or how I managed to put these thoughts together in my half-asleep stupor, but I told her, “I’m not snoring, I’m growling to ward off evil spirits and monsters.  I’m protecting you.  And now that you have woken me up, you have put us both at risk.  So, I’m going to go back to sleep, and I might growl a little, but it’s all for the greater good.”  As I rolled over and started to slip back into my peaceful slumber, I could hear her snickering on the other side of the bed.

Still Kids at Heart

Today is my wife’s birthday, so I want to pay homage to it by recounting one of our best dates.  Way back when we were in Missouri, we had stopped off one night at Pizza Hut for dinner.  I know that it wasn’t the fanciest date, but it’s about the time together, not the price of the food.  Now, pay attention!  This Pizza Hut (and maybe all Pizza Huts) was notorious for the time it took to get your food, sometimes taking over an hour even when the place was completely dead…like it was this night.  So, we had lots of time to talk and catch up.  However, this can only last so long before my playful side takes over, and without warning, I picked up my straw and blew the wrapper at her right in the middle of her sentence.

The look of shock and horror on her face was priceless.  Her eyes oozed, “how dare you!” at me like daggers.  The feeling of betrayal and outrage was written all over, as I grinned gleefully back at her.  But this was to be short-lived as she grabbed up her straw and blew the wrapper back at me.

However, her aim was not quite as good as mine, and the wrapper flew over my right shoulder and landed on the pizza of the family behind me.  The pizza that they had waited almost an hour to get and which had just minutes before been brought to their table.  In a twist of unfairness and justice (depending on who you ask), I was forced to walk over to their table, apologize for the inconvenience, and retrieve the straw wrapper off their pizza.

To this day, we still play with each other in restaurants while we wait for our food.  Personally, I hope we always do, and forever stay kids at heart.  Life it too short to grow old without a fight.

I love you; my wifey, my spousal unit, my best friend, and my play buddy.  Happy Birthday!