By Contributing Editor Jenny Isenman
Visit her blog at suburbanjungle.net
So, I am reading the Twilight series. I’m sorry did I say reading, I meant obsessed with as in, would be a stalker of the main character if he were not A) A Vampire B) Fictional. Not exactly in that order. What this says about me is that I am mentally stuck somewhere in high school, and living vicariously through this girl’s foray into a world of love and incredibly romantic, thoughtful, and charmingly chivalrous monsters.
As I left to go food shopping last night, I confronted Mark (husband) with my current grievance, as I felt it need to be addressed immediately.
“Mark, why can’t you be more like a Edward Cullen.”
“You mean a vampire?”
“No, I just want you to be obsessed with me in a, ‘Can’t take your eyes off me. You would never let me get hurt, Can’t live without me,’ kinda way.’
“Oh that, obviously. Okay. I can do that. If there is a banana peal at Publix, I will swoop in and kick it out of the way so that someone other than you trips on it and you won’t even see me, but I will always be keeping you safe and never take my eyes off you.”
“Phew, that was easy.”
“Now, could you move a bit to the left. I can’t see the game.”
So he fell off the wagon. He’s rusty, it’s been a decade since he couldn’t take his eyes or his hands or his penis off me. Frankly, the last one was getting annoying, especially in public. But shock therapy cured that right quick. The truth is, once you say “I do,” your kinda old hat. Well, not long after.
How much more obsessing and wooing is necessary, I hate the saying but, “he bought the cow.” It’s so hard to be a challenge when your married, I used to say things like, “yeah, well maybe I’ll have your kids.” Now I say things like, “yeah, maybe I’ll get your laundry.” Just trying to keep him on his toes. One day I could say things like, “yeah, maybe I’ll tell you where I hid your teeth.”
Other tactics I use to threaten his security in our marriage include, picking fights over the dishes, pointing out the things he forgets and as is evidenced here, comparing him to fictional characters that are kind and sensitive, and confident, and funny, and don’t exist in real life and if they did they’d be gay anyway.
Today I had an uncomfortable experience at Starbucks and quickly texted him this: “Hey, I burnt my tongue! Where were you?!”
He texted thus: “You didn’t see me? I already treated that tongue wound. Bet it’s feeling better now isn’t it? You were hot last night…don’t forget Jake has practice today.”
Okay, he’s trying. But, there were some errors which I pointed out in my next text: “I like when you tell me I’m hot and remind me of a practice in the same sentence, talk about hot. PS I don’t know what you used, but my tongue hurts even more!”
To which he responded: “Salt… short term it may be a bit more painful, but long term it will heal faster.”
Got to give him credit on that one. I really had no idea he treated it, but it does seem to have healed nicely. I think it was worth the extra pain… it feels so good I could even have soup tonight.
I am a neurotic mother of two amazing, wonderful, brilliant, perfect children which is saying a lot because I am a harsh critic and an uncompromising disciplinarian. You know, the kids have to sing for their supper kinda stuff… well, they at least have to ask… well, a grunt would be nice. Actually, they just sit and I make multiple meals until one is worthy of their sophisticated taste buds and doesn’t exacerbate their fear of burnt spots, crust, pizza bubbles, or food that touches other food. It is my job to keep them protected from the Florida sun, prehistoric insects, and plasticware with the number 3, 6, or 7 on the bottom. I have to expose them to just enough germs to build their immune system, while using little enough sanitizer to keep them healthy. I also have to remember to feed and water them daily.
A freelance writer for magazines such as InStyle and Mademoiselle, I also have a fabulously funny and relatable blog called suburbanjungle.net