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So, next Wednesday is my two-year Diaryland anniversary. Two years of my life in this little white box.
Remember how, once upon a time, I wrote interesting things in here? I�m sure I did. Once upon a time.
Is it possible that without the Artboy torturing my brain, I have nothing to say? That�s pretty sad.
For good measure, then, let me mention that yesterday, for the fourth time since the wedding, we were supposed to have lunch. And, for the fourth time since the wedding, he pretty much blew me off.
Well, more like got caught up in all his Artboy things and didn�t get in touch with me until long after lunchtime, but still.
He emailed me an apology yesterday afternoon, couldn�t find my work number, internet connection was down, blah blah blah excusecakes. Then he said �next week�for sure.�
I answered him back, mostly teasing, calling him Rock Star and saying that this was just the next step in his forgetting about the little people from his past, his stepping stones to stardom. I didn�t mean it. Mostly. I also re-sent him my work number, so he had no more excuses.
Today, I got back the following: �Alright, Next Thursday I'll be wearing my special size four women�s jeans just for you with nothing else on playing with olive oil in my kitchen
eagerly awaiting your doorbell ring. Love, (the Artboy).�
The pants thing and the kitchen thing are both references to conversations we�ve had before. I have no idea about the olive oil part.
He�s flirting with me. That�s so inappropriate. And yet, so not surprising.
Will I have lunch with him next week? I guess that remains to be seen. Personally, I think he�s intimidated by the wedding ring.
For those of you who can�t get enough Artboy, for the short term, you can read about him here. Boston Globe articles aren�t usually accessible after a couple days, so it�ll be gone by Sunday, but it�s there today.
No picture this time. You�ll have to get your rock star fix somewhere else.
So what else is going on, beyond my non-lunch?
Not a lot.
The guinea pigs are developing a taste for human flesh. Snickers grabbed a piece of my hand between his teeth last night and actually braced his little foot against my arm to get better leverage in trying to pull the skin off.
Someone apparently forgot to tell them they�re vegans.
The Husband and I are settling into some sort of post-wedding rhythm. I�m looking forward, personally, to January, when we can spend a little more time with just us. Right now, there are so many things going on. By the time we�re both home and alone, we�re exhausted. I have hopes, though.
We�ve started having serious future conversations. Things like, �how much of a mortgage payment can we afford,� and �which of our health plans should we switch to during open enrollment, because we want the one with the best prenatal benefits.� It makes me feel like such a grownup. But in a good way.
Sometimes, I find myself just staring at my wedding ring. Being married�being someone�s WIFE �is quite a trip. I have a husband. Ten years from now, being Mrs. Mynewlastname will be old hat, but now, I still get a weird thrill every time I listen to my voicemail, or open our mailbox. Even junk mail has a new twist these days.
And now, if y�all will excuse me, it�s time to head home to said husband, who is making me dinner tonight.
Yeah, it�s being a grownup in a good way.
Good weekend, all. And thank you to all the veterans out there this Monday honors.
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