He's got a beard all of the sudden. Cool. I keep telling people that this means he can now wrestle grizzly bears. That's all it takes. Watch out bears! Cool. I love it. See us at the baby shower. See how you totally think he's about to wrestle a big fat grizzly to the ground and show it who's boss. I know. I know.
In addition to his grizzly-bear-wrestling beard, he got his religion—he is reborn. He brought back lots of schwag. God save the schwag. May schwag fall from the sky like mana and paper us all in company logos and free parking tickets. May the kindness of schwag change all our minds and carve for us a shiny new direction with sleek marketing campaigns and catchy slogans that stay stuck in our heads and make us want to spell luncheon meat in a song and marry it. Who needs rock-n-roll when you have a t-shirt that’s smart and sticks you in the eye with its brash and crass witticism on the way the world is today (didn’t you know?). Does anyone actually use the term “rock-n-roll” anymore? I need a new campaign. I’m super stale. More schwag, please!
Mr. Husband gloriously returned with t-shirts, book bags, stuffed animals that make noises, pens, notepads, and foam Legos. He quickly shared with me his mantra, his new statement of the week, his way of the world when he informed me of his creepy love of Legos. He’s often told me that he cannot wait to have children so that he can play with Legos again. He doesn’t want to be that guy, so he needs a kid. Good reason. Watch out playground parents, we’re writing a new chapter. And, God willing, we’re building a helicopter out of Legos.
His best gift, the one that he specifically purchased with me in mind, is a girly light blue t-shirt that has “Geek Girl” sprawled across the boobage area. Nice. Draw more attention to my rack. Good one, Mr. Husband. He made me clap with a five-year-old’s enthusiasm when he showed me his matching black t-shirt with “Geek” emblazoned on the front. That’s my man. He’s my
Geek, and I’m his Geek Girl. The fact alone that I’m writing about this clearly marks me as Geek. We are, and we are proud. To truly complete the moment-o-schwag, our t-shirts also have “Microsoft” cleverly, proudly, and boldly displayed on the left sleeves. We support our egg-head maker.
On Saturday afternoon, Mr. Husband got home, and we had to scour the Galleria area of Birmingham for last-minute baby shower decorations. So in love and renewed were we in each other’s sight, that we inspired others. In one store, as we held hands and wore goofy grins, the shop ladies asked us how long we’d been married. I looked at him. He looked at me. We shrugged. I said, “about seven or eight months.” You could hear the oohing and aahing from all the ladies as they sighed and smiled over our newlywed bliss. I explained, “Well, he just got home after being gone for a week, so I’m a bit giddy by the sight of him right now.” I think one lady actually clapped her hands together over the verbal act of my crazy-love-right-now for Mr. Husband. We walked out of that store with poster board, glitter, colored Sharpies and a dance in our step. Spread it. All of it. Love it. Now.
My Mr. Husband has taught me that travel is good. I’ve always said that I love it when Mr. Husband or I travel. It is the moment of coming home, that new discovery—it is the grin and the bliss reborn in a suitcase.
In addition to his grizzly-bear-wrestling beard, he got his religion—he is reborn. He brought back lots of schwag. God save the schwag. May schwag fall from the sky like mana and paper us all in company logos and free parking tickets. May the kindness of schwag change all our minds and carve for us a shiny new direction with sleek marketing campaigns and catchy slogans that stay stuck in our heads and make us want to spell luncheon meat in a song and marry it. Who needs rock-n-roll when you have a t-shirt that’s smart and sticks you in the eye with its brash and crass witticism on the way the world is today (didn’t you know?). Does anyone actually use the term “rock-n-roll” anymore? I need a new campaign. I’m super stale. More schwag, please!
Mr. Husband gloriously returned with t-shirts, book bags, stuffed animals that make noises, pens, notepads, and foam Legos. He quickly shared with me his mantra, his new statement of the week, his way of the world when he informed me of his creepy love of Legos. He’s often told me that he cannot wait to have children so that he can play with Legos again. He doesn’t want to be that guy, so he needs a kid. Good reason. Watch out playground parents, we’re writing a new chapter. And, God willing, we’re building a helicopter out of Legos.
His best gift, the one that he specifically purchased with me in mind, is a girly light blue t-shirt that has “Geek Girl” sprawled across the boobage area. Nice. Draw more attention to my rack. Good one, Mr. Husband. He made me clap with a five-year-old’s enthusiasm when he showed me his matching black t-shirt with “Geek” emblazoned on the front. That’s my man. He’s my
Geek, and I’m his Geek Girl. The fact alone that I’m writing about this clearly marks me as Geek. We are, and we are proud. To truly complete the moment-o-schwag, our t-shirts also have “Microsoft” cleverly, proudly, and boldly displayed on the left sleeves. We support our egg-head maker.On Saturday afternoon, Mr. Husband got home, and we had to scour the Galleria area of Birmingham for last-minute baby shower decorations. So in love and renewed were we in each other’s sight, that we inspired others. In one store, as we held hands and wore goofy grins, the shop ladies asked us how long we’d been married. I looked at him. He looked at me. We shrugged. I said, “about seven or eight months.” You could hear the oohing and aahing from all the ladies as they sighed and smiled over our newlywed bliss. I explained, “Well, he just got home after being gone for a week, so I’m a bit giddy by the sight of him right now.” I think one lady actually clapped her hands together over the verbal act of my crazy-love-right-now for Mr. Husband. We walked out of that store with poster board, glitter, colored Sharpies and a dance in our step. Spread it. All of it. Love it. Now.
My Mr. Husband has taught me that travel is good. I’ve always said that I love it when Mr. Husband or I travel. It is the moment of coming home, that new discovery—it is the grin and the bliss reborn in a suitcase.
1 comment:
Mr. Husband always misses you when he's away. It's fun to miss and be missed. ;)
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