I totally had my post-holiday blogging re-entry all scoped out.
I was totally gonna start with Day 1 of my holidays, also known as “The Day That Everything Went Really Friggin’ Wrong”, which was punctuated by the experience of cutting my finger on a potato. Not on a knife with which I was cutting a potato. No — on on actual potato. Considering that Solanum tuberosum does not appear anywhere on the 2007 Year-End Top 100 Things That Are Sharp And Will Cut You, Bitch list, this was a fairly remarkable feat. Be it resolved, from this day forth the lowly potato is my nemesis and I will henceforth revel in my slow, tasty decimation of its entire species. [Perfunctory super-villain laugh.]
Next, I was gonna transition into our trip to Newfoundland, Land of Heavy Starches and Force-Feeding In-Laws. We had so much food thrown at us everyday that we did not get to eat a single bite of turkey leftovers. (Also, stuffing stings when thrown in the eyes, but not as much as cranberry sauce.)
The only mitigating factor to the lard-producing quantities of food was the two games of Ultimate I got to play (yay!) and the three-freaking days that I got to shovel several feet of snow (anti-yay!).
Note: I would have had to shovel four-freaking days in Newfoundland, but my back seized up after the third shovel-o-rama — compounded by the 5 hours I spent hunched over attempting to set up a new Vista laptop to be “foolproof” for My Lovely Wife’s aunt — so I got to sit out shovelling on our last morning on the Rock.
But never fear, because upon arriving home that afternoon, I had to shovel OUR driveway out. And when I say “shovel”, I actually mean “repeatedly drive a metal gardening shovel into the 6 inch thick sheet of ice covering our driveway and cry”.
And then I got to do it again the next day.
That’s right. Five-freaking days of shovelling.
Good times. Good times.
Then I was going to Snoopy-dance into the story of how the Small One seems to be completely out of the woods with his bladder problem. He — and the house — no longer smell like pee and he’s back to his regular cuddly self.
Note: Actually, both our boys seem to have reacted quite strongly to our holiday absence and are taking steps to prevent our further departure from the house. For example, they have fashioned crude shackles out of cat hair and dander (not particularly secure — except for the very allergic — but props for effort!) and have chained themselves to our bodies. Bedtime has never been so warm nor so furry. Last night, My Lovely Wife was mad at me for two hours for snoring before she realised that it was the Large One sawing logs in her ear.
And then I would have mentioned some other stuff.
Really, I could have gone on and on and on about every speck of minutia concerning our holidays.
But then… this morning I received this email from My Lovely Wife:
Today is Jan 3rd. Three years ago something happened…
It is true.
I forgot our anniversary.
[Hangs head in shame.]
And everything would have been JUST FINE if we BOTH continued to forget.
But My Lovely Wife remembered. Before me. And she got to be the one who told me.
If our marriage was a game — let’s say, Dungeons and Dragons — I totally failed my saving throw against Anniversary and took full damage. I’m at 0 hit points and need binding soon if I want to live. The DM is chuckling and rolling dice behind his screen.
Luckily… our marriage is not a game [listens for sound of polyhedral dice] and I seem to be at full hit points.
More importantly, I am married to the coolest chick in the world.
Heck she even put down my visor for me on our drive to work today so I wouldn’t get sun in my eyes.
(And she only complained a little while she did it.)
Ladies and gentlemen… that’s love.
When it comes down it it, only one thing matters.
I’m the luckiest guy in the world.
Happy Anniversary, Sweetie!