Friday, January 16, 2009

All I’d want is you to be my sweet honey bee.

It’s Friday night. We are so glad to be done with the work week. Not because we dislike work, we dig work always and are way too into our jobs for normalcy standards, but because this weekend Mr. Husband declared a no-cellphones-no-friends weekend. Sure, it’s 7:30 on Friday night and that rule has already been broken by two families: the McDermotts and the Craigs from Huntsville. Not much we can do there. The Craigs we see like never, so the rule had to be bent. The McDermotts are super smart, cool, and feed us champagne. Easy to break the rule there. But for tonight and for tomorrow all day—it is just me and the big guy. Feed me my husband love. We’ll call it Love Fest 2009.

We met some folks for dinner tonight after a team meeting at work. Our friend Josh commented that it didn’t seem like we’d been married over a year. We’re still too goofy. How is it that we can work so closely and still be giddy over each other. Yes, this is the kind of stuff that makes our friend Dale puke. My apologies to Dale and his esophagus. Everyone says it will change once we have kids. We’re trying to enact that rule now, but it’s still not happening. We are trying really hard to be annoyed with each other. But we only end up falling over in laughter. Tonight, we drove the New Beetle home from the pizza parlor after beers, both of us singing at the top of our lungs to the Juno soundtrack. “All I Want is You” is one of our favorites. Heck, we love them all. They’re folksy and lyric-heavy and story-built. The songs are fun for a couple to ride around town singing at the top of their lungs as they smile from their inner hearts that are bursting with love and friendship and happiness. It’s a sickness. We know.

We had a busy as busy week. Wednesday night was a dinner gathering for some people that we never really get to hang out with—newbies for us. That was fun. Lots of wine was emptied into the decanter. We ate off the fine china—it’s not just for holidays. And if a plate breaks, we’ll buy another. So what. Live it up with fine china. That’s the way we roll on a hump day. Our home was a constant open door, which is why Mr. Husband called super-love-weekend. I’m ok with that. Bring it. Let’s see what he’s got.

I’ve got cupcakes. So we made cupcakes with Loaner Son last night. He was thrilled with the three eggs and the cake box and the cupcake cups. He was amazed at how cool I am. I love that. Look at me in wonder and amazement. See me with a spatula and know that I make cake happen. I am the cake bringer. Cake is. Cake here. Cake now. Always cake. Why is it that we’re all so damn easy for cake? Mr. Husband and I raced into the house tonight after parking the New Beetle in the garage—we raced to find the last strawberry cake cupcake on the kitchen table. Finders keepers! I forgot. I got all tied up with the mail, which is typically the most exciting thing in my day—I love mystery. Mail is such. I love it probably too much. I get that excited feeling in my chest when I see the mailbox and know it’s probably full. But we do all our bills online. The mailbox is actually rather boring. I still get excited. Can’t help it. Mailbox. Yes!

Anyhow, so we raced into the house with me getting sidetracked by the mail. He won the last cupcake, which was iced in yellow with a big pink heart on it. He had it halfway in his mouth before I protested. We held each other as we both took bites out of the last cupcake. Me wrapped in Mr. Husband’s arms as we both laughed wildly with icing on our breath. Me making a strange nom nom nom sound as I bit into the side of the half-left cupcake that he let me taste. We laughed. We were giddy again with our cupcake. I almost choked on a bit of that cupcake I was laughing so hard. Love is so good. It’s cake. Mr. Husband is my perfect piece of cake. I eat his cake. I try not to choke on his cake. Shut up. Don't go there.


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