I had to run a quick errand a few minutes ago and didn't realize until I had been cut off by three cars that HEB was not the best choice of destinations. Once a year I actually catch myself thinking, "I should have gone to Wal-Mart."
Yep, it's the HOT Fair time once again. I always grumble about it a little each year. The music is so loud I can hear it at my house, the traffic gets a little thick and there is always the idiot that flies by our house in his "music" thumping car using our street as a short cut. (Oh wait, that's my neighbor.) I know it's him because I can identify the car by looking at the back window or lack there of. Quite a while back he had his stereo system stolen from his car after someone smashed his back window. Within a day he had a new music delivery system with even more power to rattle my walls. I'm guessing he decided that the insurance money should be spent on an even louder, more annoying sound system than replacing the window. Lucky for him he had enough left over from his stereo purchase to buy some duct tape and plastic wrap to cover the missing window.
This year the fair is annoying me more than usual. I think it's because we don't get to go. We usually take Abigail, but she is having some allergy issues and I'm afraid if she's around all the smoke from the fair and animal dander and dust from the rodeo the allergies will turn into a sinus infection. I think not being able to feel that thrill of seeing the rodeo cowboys defy gravity (until they hit the ground hard) or taking our annual walk down the midway is leaving me grumpy. I don't know why. Every year, we end up complaining about the cost and I get sick from eating an entire turkey leg, funnel cake with whip cream and chocolate sauce, fried butterfly potato and washing it down with sickeningly sweet lemon-aid. Then I spend the next few days trying to wipe all the turkey leg grease off Abigail's chair and trying to shake the queasy feeling I got after watching toothless old carnies hit on 12 year old girls. But still, it's a tradition and I'm a sentimental creature.
On the short trip to HEB I made the following observations:
1.) Who takes a limo to the fair? Seriously. Who does that? What a frivolous way to spend money. Use it for something wiser. Just give it to the limo driver if you want, but you are impressing no one by stepping out of a limo at a fair.
2.) If you are going to be a tightwad and park across the street from the fair, do not let your toddler walk across the high traffic road in the blackness of night. It doesn't matter if you are holding her hand. She is still moving slowly and the drivers of cars are too busy looking at the idiots in the limo and aren't paying attention to pedestrians who are hard to see. Stop being so cheap and spend some money for parking or take the free shuttle. Your toddler would have had a much more fun time riding a Waco Transit bus than creating a lifetime nightmare of cars zooming past her while you yanked her arm out of socket upon the realization that drivers weren't going to stop to let you cross.
3.) Goth kids: (is that what they are still called?) I get it. You want to wear dark colors and I'm okay with that, but see item number 2. We can't see you crossing the street when you are in black and your platform boots don't let you run very fast even when your butt's about to get run over do they? You might have been worried about being shaken up on a ride, but I bet you weren't expecting to be scared poopless while trying to get to the fairgrounds.
4.) HEB: Grackles really freak me out this time of year. HEB do something about your out- of-hand bird population. Perhaps you could try putting up scarecrows. Maybe some of the goth kids who nearly got ran over will let you have their clothes they were wearing tonight. The pants might have a few stains on them, but you can hide those by tying a sweater around the scarecrow's waist. Or maybe you could train the birds to go to the fair this time of year and poop on the heads of those who get out of limos.
5.) The driver of the Chevy HHR: You drove like you didn't know which end was up. Please get your bearings before you cut in front of me causing me to nearly get rear ended. My pants were almost in the same predicament as the Goth kids' when I looked into my rear view mirror and saw a ginormous Ford truck with a huge Big Tex Bumper Grill Guard wrapped around the entire front coming up so close that I saw the cowboy hat bobbing up and down on the driver as he spewed out curse words. He also had a trailer hitch jabbing out about a foot over the back bumper (I call those "Damnits" because that's what I shout out whenever I accidentally whack up against one in a parking lot) I know he had one because he had to swerve over to next lane and fly around me because of the chaos you created by cutting in front of me and hitting the breaks. The Ohio license plate is no excuse for you being an idiot. And why does Ohio put "Truck" on the plate that is on an HHR? That was enough to make me want to run you over. But hopefully Big Tex did that when you went around him and cut him off in retaliation for cutting you off which he had done to retaliate for you starting the mess. I had to turn down my street so I didn't get to see if he nailed you. It would have made me even more mighty proud to be a Texan if he had. I know we are supposed to be the friendly state but I wanted to come home and dig out my boots so I could track you down and kick you hard.
I guess the moral of this pointless story is "Don't mess with Texas." Or at least don't mess with this Texan when I'm grumpy because I haven't partaken of my Central Texas tradition.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
It isn't rabies!
Last week I began a training course at the local Humane Society on how to train dogs. Each of the participants has been assigned a dog to work with so we can show it how to be more behaved and irresistible when someone comes to find a dog to adopt. I was hoping to walk away from the first session having earned the title of Dynamic Duo with my dog Sweetie. I walked away with a silent agreement between us that as long as I bribe her with lots of treats she will look at me every so often and focus in between the times that she is sniffing the ground. That is of course unless someone else stands close to her. Then no amount of treats will keep her from looking longingly at the other person as if she regrets being stuck with me. I've always known that dogs can help with one's self esteem, but this is the first dog that I've encountered that helps by using reverse psychology. She makes me feel a little self conscious so I affirm to myself that I am a person who is fun to be around despite what Sweetie thinks. She's helped me greatly in my self affirmation skills.
Almost right off the bat two dogs got into a tussle. Sweetie sat right next to me and we watched it get broken up. I was rather grateful that my dog was relaxed during that spectacle and was happy that I wasn't the embarrassed handler trying to pull my dog off another. A few minutes later I was pulling my dog with all my strength yelling, "Hey! Hey! Knock it off! Hey!" as she and another got into a wrestling match. My attempt to break them up was unsuccessful largely because when I tried to pry my foot between them I got a good look at their teeth. It wasn't even an intense fight, just a show of strength and dominance but it still shook me up. The instructor was able to pull them off each other. I expected her to accusingly ask me what happened; she didn't. But she did use the experience to shout out to everyone to keep our dogs at a distance from each other. I could feel my ears burning with embarrassment as I added, "I am not a dork." to my arsenal of self-affirmation phrases.
Reflecting back, the situation occurred because I lost a sense of my surroundings as I was digging into my pocket to get some treats ready. The dog next to us, Hank, was several feet away from us, but he closed the gap and came at me fast to get some of those great tasting treats and Sweetie wasn't going to let that happen. If I had been paying attention I could have stopped it before it began but focus has always been a bit of a challenge with me. However, maybe the other trainers who are going to be standing around me should equip their pockets with many Reeses' to offer me. I'm willing to be a test subject on positive reinforcement in humans as long as I get my fill of the chocolate/peanut butter delights. Give me a Reeses' Big Cup and I might even let you scratch my belly.
Wait. What was I saying about focusing?
As I was trying to think of a way to break up Sweetie and Hank I had a flashback of a childhood memory. The family at the end of our road had a Doberman. Our little dog, Sarge and their Dobie got along just fine. But one day for some unknown reason they started fighting. I couldn't have been older than 6 or 7 and was oblivious to the danger. In my infinite wisdom I got right between them and yelled, "Stop!" Dobie slammed into me knocking me onto my butt and one of them bit me hard on my belly. Again, in my infinite wisdom I screamed. As the banshee wail came out of my mouth I remembered my dad telling me again and again to never scream a high pitch squeal around a dog so it abruptly stopped and turned into a deep, guttural almost demon sounding, "I said stop it you dumb butts!" (That was the only curse word I knew back then.) I still remember the look Dobie gave me as she backed away tilting her head to the side in curiosity. I think she expected my head to start spinning at that point. Sarge jumped over me and chased her the rest of the way to her home.
When Sarge returned to me so did the little girl who belonged to Dobie. I told her what happened and showed her the broken skin on my belly and she begged me not to tell anyone. At that time Dobermans were today's Pitties. Everyone thought they were vicious and uncontrollable. I knew better. I had never even seen Dobie growl until that day and I wasn't even sure if she was the one who bit me. I agreed to keep silent.
By the end of the day the little scratch of a bite mark was already crusting over. But to me it looked like a horrid gash that one would receive in battle. I didn't want to get Dobie into trouble, but I had seen the episode on "Little House" when Laura got bitten by a rabid dog. Suddenly I was thirsty oh so very thirsty, but wait-I was too scared of the water to take a drink. What did I feel on my chin? Was it? No, it couldn't be! But it was, it had to be. I knew I had foam dripping from the corners of my mouth and even saw it fly out into the air as I shouted, "Daddy! Help me!"
Once it had been explained to me in no uncertain terms that I did not have rabies, I had to explain why I had just gone into a deranged frenzy about foaming at the mouth and sudden unquenchable thirst. I had to show him the bite. Expecting him to immediately tear down the road to defend his baby daughter I got ready to spring onto one of his legs to hold him back. He looked at me calmly and asked, "What did you do to get bit?"
I was ready to hang Dobie out to dry. I had gotten bit, how dare he assume it was my fault. She would have killed me if Sarge hadn't of sprung into action. I could have rabies and I was quite sure that Pa on "Little House" wouldn't react that way. I was even able to work in some tears to stress my point.
Thankfully, my dad was level headed and understood dogs. Instead of charging down the road to demand their dog be quarantined he explained to me that dogs are dogs and fight. And when they do fight, they are going to act like a completely different animal so telling them to stop and jumping in between them wasn't good. With wide eyes it sunk in that if they had been really fighting instead of just having a tussle, I could have been seriously injured by both of them. I was told to always run away from a dog fight and find an adult to help.
That lesson has stuck with me all these years. Which was a good thing until I found myself at a dog training course yelling, "Hey!" and being afraid to intervene in a dog fight. I was looking around for an adult to ask for help and it didn't dawn on me until too late that I was an adult. Thankfully, I wasn't bitten because that would be embarrassing for them to have to hold me down and convince me all over again that my mouth wasn't foaming.
~~~~~~~
And just to add to my lessons in life that I learned from dogs: I also learned, you know, about the birds and bees from them. It wasn't my parents who had to explain that one to me. It happened on the playground at my elementary school when two stray dogs came up and started...ummmm..displaying their affection in front of a large group of us. All that I needed to know about the facts of life was learned as a large group of us second graders stood observing two dogs and listening to the explanations of the older, wiser fourth graders.
Please, parents-heed my advice and explain to your kids how to act around dogs. Most of the time if a kid gets bitten it is his own fault. And for the love of humanity have the "talk" with your children before they have to learn it from 4th graders complete with a live visual provided by two stray dogs.
Almost right off the bat two dogs got into a tussle. Sweetie sat right next to me and we watched it get broken up. I was rather grateful that my dog was relaxed during that spectacle and was happy that I wasn't the embarrassed handler trying to pull my dog off another. A few minutes later I was pulling my dog with all my strength yelling, "Hey! Hey! Knock it off! Hey!" as she and another got into a wrestling match. My attempt to break them up was unsuccessful largely because when I tried to pry my foot between them I got a good look at their teeth. It wasn't even an intense fight, just a show of strength and dominance but it still shook me up. The instructor was able to pull them off each other. I expected her to accusingly ask me what happened; she didn't. But she did use the experience to shout out to everyone to keep our dogs at a distance from each other. I could feel my ears burning with embarrassment as I added, "I am not a dork." to my arsenal of self-affirmation phrases.
Reflecting back, the situation occurred because I lost a sense of my surroundings as I was digging into my pocket to get some treats ready. The dog next to us, Hank, was several feet away from us, but he closed the gap and came at me fast to get some of those great tasting treats and Sweetie wasn't going to let that happen. If I had been paying attention I could have stopped it before it began but focus has always been a bit of a challenge with me. However, maybe the other trainers who are going to be standing around me should equip their pockets with many Reeses' to offer me. I'm willing to be a test subject on positive reinforcement in humans as long as I get my fill of the chocolate/peanut butter delights. Give me a Reeses' Big Cup and I might even let you scratch my belly.
Wait. What was I saying about focusing?
As I was trying to think of a way to break up Sweetie and Hank I had a flashback of a childhood memory. The family at the end of our road had a Doberman. Our little dog, Sarge and their Dobie got along just fine. But one day for some unknown reason they started fighting. I couldn't have been older than 6 or 7 and was oblivious to the danger. In my infinite wisdom I got right between them and yelled, "Stop!" Dobie slammed into me knocking me onto my butt and one of them bit me hard on my belly. Again, in my infinite wisdom I screamed. As the banshee wail came out of my mouth I remembered my dad telling me again and again to never scream a high pitch squeal around a dog so it abruptly stopped and turned into a deep, guttural almost demon sounding, "I said stop it you dumb butts!" (That was the only curse word I knew back then.) I still remember the look Dobie gave me as she backed away tilting her head to the side in curiosity. I think she expected my head to start spinning at that point. Sarge jumped over me and chased her the rest of the way to her home.
When Sarge returned to me so did the little girl who belonged to Dobie. I told her what happened and showed her the broken skin on my belly and she begged me not to tell anyone. At that time Dobermans were today's Pitties. Everyone thought they were vicious and uncontrollable. I knew better. I had never even seen Dobie growl until that day and I wasn't even sure if she was the one who bit me. I agreed to keep silent.
By the end of the day the little scratch of a bite mark was already crusting over. But to me it looked like a horrid gash that one would receive in battle. I didn't want to get Dobie into trouble, but I had seen the episode on "Little House" when Laura got bitten by a rabid dog. Suddenly I was thirsty oh so very thirsty, but wait-I was too scared of the water to take a drink. What did I feel on my chin? Was it? No, it couldn't be! But it was, it had to be. I knew I had foam dripping from the corners of my mouth and even saw it fly out into the air as I shouted, "Daddy! Help me!"
Once it had been explained to me in no uncertain terms that I did not have rabies, I had to explain why I had just gone into a deranged frenzy about foaming at the mouth and sudden unquenchable thirst. I had to show him the bite. Expecting him to immediately tear down the road to defend his baby daughter I got ready to spring onto one of his legs to hold him back. He looked at me calmly and asked, "What did you do to get bit?"
I was ready to hang Dobie out to dry. I had gotten bit, how dare he assume it was my fault. She would have killed me if Sarge hadn't of sprung into action. I could have rabies and I was quite sure that Pa on "Little House" wouldn't react that way. I was even able to work in some tears to stress my point.
Thankfully, my dad was level headed and understood dogs. Instead of charging down the road to demand their dog be quarantined he explained to me that dogs are dogs and fight. And when they do fight, they are going to act like a completely different animal so telling them to stop and jumping in between them wasn't good. With wide eyes it sunk in that if they had been really fighting instead of just having a tussle, I could have been seriously injured by both of them. I was told to always run away from a dog fight and find an adult to help.
That lesson has stuck with me all these years. Which was a good thing until I found myself at a dog training course yelling, "Hey!" and being afraid to intervene in a dog fight. I was looking around for an adult to ask for help and it didn't dawn on me until too late that I was an adult. Thankfully, I wasn't bitten because that would be embarrassing for them to have to hold me down and convince me all over again that my mouth wasn't foaming.
~~~~~~~
And just to add to my lessons in life that I learned from dogs: I also learned, you know, about the birds and bees from them. It wasn't my parents who had to explain that one to me. It happened on the playground at my elementary school when two stray dogs came up and started...ummmm..displaying their affection in front of a large group of us. All that I needed to know about the facts of life was learned as a large group of us second graders stood observing two dogs and listening to the explanations of the older, wiser fourth graders.
Please, parents-heed my advice and explain to your kids how to act around dogs. Most of the time if a kid gets bitten it is his own fault. And for the love of humanity have the "talk" with your children before they have to learn it from 4th graders complete with a live visual provided by two stray dogs.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Lamenting about dirty socks
Why? Why is it that I find dirty socks all throughout the house? I have receptacles set up in several areas for items like that. And it isn't just socks; jeans, belts, shirts underwear can sometimes be found in the most unusual places. Our house is tiny so it isn't as though one would have to wonder farther than a few steps to be able to toss a dirty clothes item into what is known as a dirty clothes basket. But somehow the only time a dirty item makes it into a basket is when the basket is full of clean, folded clothes waiting to be put away. It's always a treat to go back to a clean clothes basket to begin the task of putting them up and finding clothes drenched in the sweat and grass stains that occurred during the mowing of the lawn. He doesn't get my point when I yell, "Contaminated! The mission must begin all over again!" as I take the clothes to the washer. But there is solace when I am able to find the dirty clothes tainting the clean clothes while he is in the shower. Since our house is tiny if I start the washer while he is still showering it messes with the flow and temperature of the water. Sometimes for fun I start washing the dishes at that exact moment as well.
Why do all my cute flea market treasure bowls or plates turn into his holder for his pipes, pipe cleaners and pipe tobacco? At my last thrift store trip I bought him a manly container made especially for pipes. I see it on his desk empty. But all my flowery enamel bowls and Blue Ridge Mountain pottery plates that I painstakingly searched out and negotiated the price on at flea markets are overflowing with pipes and tobacco, keys, pieces of wire and cable and things that I have no idea what they are, but know that I am not allowed to move them without being asked where they are and why I touched them.
Why? Why do the snacks that I pick out specifically for me because he has said he doesn't like it still disappear without me eating them. How many tantrums does he have to see me throw before he realizes not to take the last of my anything. Especially if it's chocolate.
Why does he wait until I have just finished mopping the floors before he comes inside tracking mud and grass from the garden? Does he have some sort of radar that alerts him as to when I have just finished that task and am looking appreciatively at my shiny floor so he can come tromping all over it? Or why is it that he can sit at his computer without stirring until I start cleaning or cooking in the kitchen and he has to come in right at that moment to get a drink and get all in the way so I find myself tripping all over him? And does that same radar tell him the precise moment that I need to reach for the car's middle console so that he can place his elbow on it just as I'm lifting the lid? And how is he able to say so quickly that I am in his way before I can tell him to move.
After 16 years of marriage one would think he'd figure it out. You would think that at least I would have figured out all the answers to my long list of other questions about him.
Why? Why is it that when I wake up in the morning with puffy eyes and matted hair he looks at me as if he thinks I am the most beautiful creature he has ever seen? How can it be that on hectic summer days when he comes home for an early lunch to find me still without a shower in my ratty pajamas and unbrushed teeth with unkempt hair and face he slaps my butt as I walk by and flirts with me like he did when we were first married 16 years ago? How does he know when I'm feeling fat because a dress is fitting a little snug to tell me my curves are perfect and to come to him so he can wrap his arms around my little waist? Why does he do the other things like after me nagging him for weeks about a dripping faucet waiting until I'm gone for the day and surprising me by replacing the whole thing with one that is exactly what I would have picked. Or instead of replacing a burnt out light bulb in Abigail's room, buying a whole new light fixture that is perfect for her room and not saying a word about it until I smart off about him finally changing that bulb just as I look up to see what he has done? Without being asked, finding my lost keys within 5 minutes of searching after I had been frantically looking all day. Turning the car around in Clyde without one word of admonishment when I blurted out, "I forgot my purse!" and driving all the way back to San Angelo to retrieve it. Getting up in the middle of the night because I am still up with Abigail who's having a rough time and even though he has to work in the morning telling me to go back to bed while he sits up with her. Slowly adding more plants to our flower bed until I realize that little by little it is going to end up looking like the enchanted cottage garden I've always wanted since reading story books as a child. Then sharing with me his plans to slowly add even more mounds of flowers in the back complete with paths and sitting areas. Only pretending to be angry when I washed his pants without checking the pockets and ruined his prized pipe lighter. Accusingly teasing me of "chucking chit" when he's missing something he needs because I went on a cleaning rampage and threw anything of his into a random drawer or crevice while placing my things in a neat and orderly spot. Why, after having our one and only genuine screaming fight that erupted over him forgetting to get honey at the grocery store, he left the house and returned with the biggest damn jar of honey I've ever seen and plunked it down on the table causing me to bite my cheeks to keep from bursting out laughing? Then he just hugged me and we held each other tight with forgiveness.
I still have that jar of honey. It is crystallized inside, but it reminds me that I have someone in my life that puts up with me and my moods. I don't deserve it but I have someone who for unknown reasons loves me through my air headedness, my feeling ugly days, my sudden cleaning rampages and quick temper. Sometimes I take that old jar of honey and hold it in the light to see its crystal amber beauty refract the light and shine. When others see it they might think it has grown old and stale, the crystals too rough around the edges but I know that it will taste just as sweet. Sometimes we just sit in silence, comfortable with each others presence and knowing we don't need to say a word. I wonder if anyone ever sees us in that state and interprets it as us growing stale instead of being so at ease with one another that we can just sit still and be confident in each other without uttering a sound.
When I see his dirty socks and messy pipes I am thankful for the evidence that he is in my life and will love me through anything. Even though there are days I look in the mirror and see nothing but myself growing older and feeling rough around the edges he reminds me that I am still sweet and he sees only the reflection of beauty. I would rather have a mountain of dirty, smelly socks than one day of him not being in my life.
But I'm still going to run the washer when he's in the shower because he wouldn't expect anything less.
Why do all my cute flea market treasure bowls or plates turn into his holder for his pipes, pipe cleaners and pipe tobacco? At my last thrift store trip I bought him a manly container made especially for pipes. I see it on his desk empty. But all my flowery enamel bowls and Blue Ridge Mountain pottery plates that I painstakingly searched out and negotiated the price on at flea markets are overflowing with pipes and tobacco, keys, pieces of wire and cable and things that I have no idea what they are, but know that I am not allowed to move them without being asked where they are and why I touched them.
Why? Why do the snacks that I pick out specifically for me because he has said he doesn't like it still disappear without me eating them. How many tantrums does he have to see me throw before he realizes not to take the last of my anything. Especially if it's chocolate.
Why does he wait until I have just finished mopping the floors before he comes inside tracking mud and grass from the garden? Does he have some sort of radar that alerts him as to when I have just finished that task and am looking appreciatively at my shiny floor so he can come tromping all over it? Or why is it that he can sit at his computer without stirring until I start cleaning or cooking in the kitchen and he has to come in right at that moment to get a drink and get all in the way so I find myself tripping all over him? And does that same radar tell him the precise moment that I need to reach for the car's middle console so that he can place his elbow on it just as I'm lifting the lid? And how is he able to say so quickly that I am in his way before I can tell him to move.
After 16 years of marriage one would think he'd figure it out. You would think that at least I would have figured out all the answers to my long list of other questions about him.
Why? Why is it that when I wake up in the morning with puffy eyes and matted hair he looks at me as if he thinks I am the most beautiful creature he has ever seen? How can it be that on hectic summer days when he comes home for an early lunch to find me still without a shower in my ratty pajamas and unbrushed teeth with unkempt hair and face he slaps my butt as I walk by and flirts with me like he did when we were first married 16 years ago? How does he know when I'm feeling fat because a dress is fitting a little snug to tell me my curves are perfect and to come to him so he can wrap his arms around my little waist? Why does he do the other things like after me nagging him for weeks about a dripping faucet waiting until I'm gone for the day and surprising me by replacing the whole thing with one that is exactly what I would have picked. Or instead of replacing a burnt out light bulb in Abigail's room, buying a whole new light fixture that is perfect for her room and not saying a word about it until I smart off about him finally changing that bulb just as I look up to see what he has done? Without being asked, finding my lost keys within 5 minutes of searching after I had been frantically looking all day. Turning the car around in Clyde without one word of admonishment when I blurted out, "I forgot my purse!" and driving all the way back to San Angelo to retrieve it. Getting up in the middle of the night because I am still up with Abigail who's having a rough time and even though he has to work in the morning telling me to go back to bed while he sits up with her. Slowly adding more plants to our flower bed until I realize that little by little it is going to end up looking like the enchanted cottage garden I've always wanted since reading story books as a child. Then sharing with me his plans to slowly add even more mounds of flowers in the back complete with paths and sitting areas. Only pretending to be angry when I washed his pants without checking the pockets and ruined his prized pipe lighter. Accusingly teasing me of "chucking chit" when he's missing something he needs because I went on a cleaning rampage and threw anything of his into a random drawer or crevice while placing my things in a neat and orderly spot. Why, after having our one and only genuine screaming fight that erupted over him forgetting to get honey at the grocery store, he left the house and returned with the biggest damn jar of honey I've ever seen and plunked it down on the table causing me to bite my cheeks to keep from bursting out laughing? Then he just hugged me and we held each other tight with forgiveness.
I still have that jar of honey. It is crystallized inside, but it reminds me that I have someone in my life that puts up with me and my moods. I don't deserve it but I have someone who for unknown reasons loves me through my air headedness, my feeling ugly days, my sudden cleaning rampages and quick temper. Sometimes I take that old jar of honey and hold it in the light to see its crystal amber beauty refract the light and shine. When others see it they might think it has grown old and stale, the crystals too rough around the edges but I know that it will taste just as sweet. Sometimes we just sit in silence, comfortable with each others presence and knowing we don't need to say a word. I wonder if anyone ever sees us in that state and interprets it as us growing stale instead of being so at ease with one another that we can just sit still and be confident in each other without uttering a sound.
When I see his dirty socks and messy pipes I am thankful for the evidence that he is in my life and will love me through anything. Even though there are days I look in the mirror and see nothing but myself growing older and feeling rough around the edges he reminds me that I am still sweet and he sees only the reflection of beauty. I would rather have a mountain of dirty, smelly socks than one day of him not being in my life.
But I'm still going to run the washer when he's in the shower because he wouldn't expect anything less.
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