Woulda Coulda Shoulda

I know I’ve told you before about how really, the biggest adjustment for me in moving south was the seriousness of the bugs around here. The insects in Georgia are just not screwing around, man, they are here to REPRESENT. As such, having a Bug Guy is—to my mind, anyway, and those of any sane people with whom I’ve spoken—just not optional ’round here. Having a maid is optional. Having curbside trash pick-up is optional (if you don’t mind driving to the dump). Having a company that will keep creepy germ-encrusted twitchy exoskeletons filled with SQUICK out of your house is NOT OPTIONAL.

Bug Guys typically come and treat the house once a quarter. Then, if you have some sort of problem, they’ll come back and retreat as many time as is necessary, but once a quarter pretty well keeps things under control. EXCEPT. I learned early on that the week after the Bug Guy comes, it’s inevitable that a few bug sightings are going to happen—the poison drives ‘em out of the crevices and sometimes IN rather than OUT.

But that doesn’t make it any less disgusting. (more…)

At last check, Otto was still carrying only about 17% of the vote in his favor on the cookies-and-milk issue. Honestly, I’m surprised it’s that high. And as I emailed several folks as your thoughtful and gag-laden comments rolled in, I think a part of my objection on this issue is the delivery method. It’s the DRINKING of the cookie sludge that offends me. Were he to eat it with a spoon, I would be less bothered. Why? I don’t know. Perhaps because then you’re acknowledging that it’s not a liquid. Drinking chunky things is just nasty.

ANYWAY. Otto is bearing up under the strain of being COMPLETELY SMACKED DOWN pretty well, and he is not a man given to grudges, but I strongly suspect he accidentally-on-purpose planned out what happened this morning.

For one thing, we’re unlikely to have an entire Otto Week, as previously suggested, because he’s just left town for the rest of the week. The jerk. (more…)

“Must you MOCK ME so?” asked Otto, in response to yesterday’s entry.

I considered his question for a moment. “Yes. Yes, I must. Thank you for asking.”

[Do you ever wonder what keeps him here? I wonder, quite often. I mean, Otto is smart, funny, charming, capable, and totally hot. All I bring to this relationship is a couple of high-maintenance children, copious amounts of mockery, repeated requests for popcorn, and a dog with periodic digestive issues. I can only conclude that I must be positively mind-blowing in bed.]

Otto rolled his eyes. Naturally, I took that as a challenge.

“I think maybe we’re going to have Otto Week on the blog, in fact,” I continued. “All Otto, All The Time. This is going to be FUN.” (more…)

Over 20 years ago I sat down next to this cute guy I didn’t know during what turned out to be kind of a boring class at Syracuse University. Before long we were passing the time by writing notes back and forth in his spiral notebook. If you ask ME, those notes mostly consisted of him flirting madly with me; if you ask HIM, those notes mostly consisted of me suggesting he break up with his girlfriend and run off to the mountains with me.

(I was a shy, retiring flower, even back then.)

The class ended, but the friendship endured. He moved all over the east coast; I moved to California. I got married; he came to the wedding. I moved back to New England; so did he. I had a baby; he came to my baby shower. My marriage fell apart, he took me out for Chinese food and listened while I cried and maintained a respectful distance.

We didn’t run away to the mountains together until our honeymoon, three years ago. (more…)

I’ve often pointed out that Otto is, in many ways, a far superior wife to me. He is romantic; I am pragmatic. He puts away laundry; I prefer to wash it and then wonder why it’s still in the basket a week later. He is nice; I’m kind of a jerk. You get the idea.

And so, with our third anniversary looming, last night I made a special dinner (if by “special” you mean “ingredients thrown in the crock pot on a wing and a prayer,” and I do), and as we lounged at the table after the meal concluded—discussing our upcoming summer travel, dreaming of vacation—I mercilessly mocked something Otto said and then did not exactly pick up on the cues that I was really and truly annoying him instead of being funny.

Like I said: kind of a jerk.

“You guuuuuuys!” called Chickadee, standing between us (as I realized my mistake and stuffed my foot further into my mouth with loving apologies along the lines of, “Hey, know what I love about you? THAT YOU USED TO HAVE A SENSE OF HUMOR”), “You can’t fight! Your anniversary is tomorrow!!”

“We’re not fighting,” both of us answered, but she was not convinced. (more…)