Pardon the brief interruption. We now return you to our regularly-scheduled Otto Week.
Sometimes I wonder if I do poke at Otto just a little too much. I mean, I love him to pieces, and I’m pretty sure he knows that, but I’m also just kind of a jerk, sometimes. And that’s aside from the fact that I suspect it’s hard to be married to someone who regularly tells the Internet “Hey, this totally embarrassing thing happened! Let me describe it to you in EXCRUCIATING DETAIL!”
Other times, I figure it’s just part of that whole we-are-totally-meant-to-be-together thing that he puts up with and maybe even enjoys the abuse. (Uh, not like that. Sheesh.)
Every now and then—like this morning—I get confirmation that this is so.
Otto is hard at work at a conference, you know. And when he called home last night to check in he was exhausted, and I felt a little bit bad admitting that Chickadee and I had thoroughly basked in Girls’ Night in his absence. (Both Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants movies! Enormous watermelon-feta salads for dinner, followed by Heath Bar ice cream sundaes!) We chatted briefly and said goodnight, and I didn’t expect to hear from him again until late tonight.
But this morning I got up and had an email from him. He’d forwarded me a Facebook notification he’d received, from one of his former students. She’d written on his wall:
so… i read your wife’s blog sometimes. i’ve concluded that she’s awesome.
Aren’t Otto’s students the greatest? Such excellent taste, and all.
I don’t know if her assessment was based upon the recent spate of “My husband is a weirdo” posts or just general recognition of my mad skillz, but I’m prepared to believe the latter.
Also I am oddly touched by the fact that he wanted to show me that she said that. He cannot possibly be planning to murder me in my sleep at the same time that that’s happening, right? RIGHT?
Love you, Otto! Come home soon!
I promise to stop making fun of you! I promise to be really happy to see you! And even get dressed before you get back here with your students! (Would wearing my “Brunettes can talk and shop at the same time” t-shirt be too much? Probably too much. I’ll wear something else.)