Well, he's not a beast just yet, but he will be. Trust me. He's got a job interview in Chicago on Tuesday which means that he will begin preparations today - trying on every suit he owns, laundering every pair of underwear, researching the company, chanting, anointing himself with oils, and beating himself with willow branches until he bleeds - and begin to transform into a total asshole for the rest of the day. When this man, who under normal conditions is a marshmallow, gets nervous he displays a form of grumpitude equal to no other.
When he wakes up I'm getting the fuck out of here for the rest of the afternoon and early evening.
I woke up refreshed and perky and if I'm around Sir-Gripe-A-Lot for very long my lovely mood and graceful disposition will be crushed like a grape and since shit always rolls downhill - I will have no one else to take it out on but the cat. It's always the innocents who suffer the most.
I have some shopping to do anyway. I'd take the cat with me if I could.
So, since I don't have much time before the bear comes out of his den I'm going to hit you with a quick and dirty recap of recent events, conversations and observations, in no particular order.
1. A clerk with a name tag that said Cecil above the word Turkey, at the check in desk of a hotel we stayed in recently handed us our room key and asked MDH if he would like to have the password to the Virus. MDH and the clerk proceeded to have a verbal volley that lasted for far too long and consisted of my husband saying things like, "I'm sorry, what?" and "Could you repeat that again?" while Cecil responded back with "The Virus!, The Virus!" in the kind of increasingly frenzied tones one experiences when not being understood. Poor Cecil. Poor MDH.
I put an end to the escalating heated exchange when I realized that putting the country of origin on the name tags was the hotels clever way of keeping us aware of the ethnic diversity of their staff. Later that day I was to meet Clara, Hong-Kong and Rosalee, Trinadad. Cecil, Turkey was an indication of where Cecil was from, not a personality trait or strange job title.
Remembering from experience my old boss who was Turkish and had a strange accent that always reminded me of Count Dracula, with the endearing way that he pronounced his W's as V's and was always swallowing his L's, I had the epiphany that Cecil was trying to say "Wireless" - not "Virus". Thank god.
MDH and I wondered on our way up to our room how many people never bothered to investigate Cecil's offer of a Virus and lived out the rest of their hotel stay with no internets.
(My gracious - #1 has turned out quite long!)
2. It is very hot an humid here this week and we have been peppered with Thunderstorms. It's the kind of weather that causes my normally smooth and shiny hair to frizz out like a fright wig. In an effort to go with it, I decided to style my hair in such a way as to work with the frizz rather than try to smooth it all out like I normally do.
At first I was pleased with the results, but after working a full 9 hour day when I finally plopped down in my steaming hot car to drive home and viewed my head in the rear view mirror and the combination of heat and humidity throughout the day had caused all my make-up to melt off too. I looked like Phyllis Diller.
3. Late yesterday afternoon MDH shocked me by asking if I'd like to get out of the house and go out to dinner. Although I'm pretty sure he only did this to get out of going to the grocery store to pick up hamburger buns like I'd asked him to do earlier in the day, it worked and we drove to the beach to have dinner in a lovely spot right on the water.
We had been to this restaurant a year or so ago with some friends of ours that have since moved away to Oregon. The night we ate there our friends drove, so MDH and I didn't remember where it was exactly, except that it was next to the water. We couldn't remember the name of the place either.
Needless to say when we got to the beachy town where the restaurant was located we drove around in circles, arguing and bickering like a couple of spider monkeys over the last banana chunk, until we remembered that MDH's new crackberry has a GPS feature. I typed in the word "restaurant" and zoomed in on locales that were on the water and we (I) finally found the place, reaffirming my earlier statements on this blog that I would make an excellent contestant on that show The Amazing Race.
4. Just as we were polishing off a lovely dessert of strawberry shortcake with strawberry ice cream, the sky started to get very stormy with lots of lightening strikes. The storm was heading toward our house so we decided to leave the restaurant right away and try to get home before it hit. We made it, but along the way we passed a giant RV sales lot with big balloons and banners desperately displayed in an attempt to get some poor dumbass to buy a camper with gas prices at $4.09 a gallon.
Anyhoo... it was at this moment that MDH surprised me yet again, twice in the same day, and expressed his lifelong desire to someday travel the country in an RV - the following conversation ensued (those of you married for any length of time will relate):
Me: Really? I will miss you while you are away.
MDH: I thought it would be something the two of us would do together in our old age.
Me: Have you learned nothing about me, 'lo these past 9 years? Maybe we can work something out where you sleep in the RV in the parking lot after you drop me off at a hotel. I've never pooped in a camper and that's a record I'm not planning to break in my lifetime if I can help it.
MDH: I've always wanted to sleep in one of those camper beds (grabbing my knee)
Me: Oh, I get it now... if this camper's a'rockin...
MDH: It's probably out of alignment.
PS: I chose the tag "electrocution by coat hanger" because it popped up when I tried to type something else and then I was interested to see what the original post was that caused me to create that tag. It'll be a total surprise.