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So my buddy list tells me it's been twelve days. Twelve damn days. It doesn't FEEL like twelve days, but I guess the internal calendar doesn't lie. Well, except when it does, but I think in this case it probably doesn't...
The Husband is out in the living room watching some show called "Modern Masters" on HGTV. Honestly, I think he'd watch someone else's laundry dry if they put it on HGTV. He was in a panic earlier because the TV didn't appear to have any stations. Further investigation showed the cable company had cut us off because they said we owed them $36.72, 58 days in arrears. Oddly, this seems to be the amount they were supposed to adjust off due to their error in changing our service two months ago. Funny how that happens. One irate phone call later, we had our cable service back again. It frightens me how instantly he was placated. He turned it on as we were sitting down to dinner, and I could tell he was antsy the whole time we were eating, but I'd be damned if I was going to let my pasta get cold and sticky while I called Comcast. Are we that TV dependant? I shudder to think.
I stayed in the room through a Sex and the City rerun, in which, scarily enough, Carrie rejected an outfit almost just like the one I was given at my bachelorette party for her book cover as being "too hookerish." Granted, I didn't wear it anywhere but in the privacy of our honeymoon suite, but still, I have to say I identified with Samantha's rather indignant expression as she retorted, "I have one just like it in red!" Hey--I thought having marabou-covered breasts was fun, at least for a little while!
Long-time readers of the Jenistar story may recall that the Husband also received some special honeymoon underwear--his as a gift, actually, from his future mother-in-law at our rehearsal dinner. In the most indulgent moment ever in the history of MIL-SIL relations, she ventured into Frederick's of Hollywood and purchased one pair of elephant underwear for my now-husband. Yep--the kind with the trunk in front and not much else behind. It also made a short appearance on our honeymoon, but I haven't seen it since.
Sunday night, I was standing in front of the sink, flossing. The thoughts running through my head were normal end-of-the-day type thoughts--what would I wear to work the next day, did I remember to fill the guinea pigs' hay trough before I left the kitchen, what laundry still needed to be done, did I need to pee one more time before heading to bed despite my having peed seven minutes before hand--things like that.
A noise behind me made me turn around. There was the husband, gigantic cat-ate-the-canary smile on his face, wearing nothing but his elephant.
Would it be an insult to masculinity everywhere if I admitted my first response was total, uncontrolled laughter?
Yes, folks, this is what it's come to around here.
I have to say, though, my laughing at him didn't make the elephant lower his trunk...
The guinea pig hay waited until morning.
And now, I'm off to take my nightly dose of Benadryl (don't get pregnant during allergy season, any of you! Trust me!!!) with the hopes that it will keep me from waking up every two hours. Sleep well, y'all. May your dreams be elephant-free!
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