Hump Day Massacre

Today is Hump Day. The middle-of-the-week-get-your-hump-on-holiday. We celebrate religiously. My good friend, Mr. CT, taught me once that great pleasure can be derived from the occasional hump. He used to hump my cube wall. He humped a lot of things, but in the end—I learned a valuable lesson. To hump is to show wild pleasure for a being or an object. I once humped a Dooney & Burke purse and was awarded with it as a surprise during my Birthannukah celebration. The message I take from this is that humping works. Clearly.

Recently, Mr. Husband and I started working in different offices. We’ve been very fortunate to spend the previous three years of our awesome (with lots of humping) relationship very close together—literally. We’ve been physically in the same building for four years, a year and a half of that within sneezing distance. When Mr. Husband sneezes, I was able to bless him (in case his soul turns out to be susceptible to demons). No longer is the case. I took a new position at our company and now am approximately five miles up the road at international headquarters. Now, if Mr. Husband sneezes I have to rely on either chance or one of his goodly co-workers blessing him to fight off potential demon attacks. Please, Gary, be kind and bless my dear far-away husband.

With the move to a new job comes the change in carpooling. Sure, this has also brought a renewed sense of freedom as we no longer need to wait on each other to get ready in the morning, but it has also brought independent driving to our doorstep. We’ll still drive together occasionally with Mr. Husband dropping me off at work, but more often than not—I am independent woman! The result of acquired independence means that Mr. Husband no longer needs to dance out the door with me in the morning around 7:00 am. He can linger a bit longer, dream one more getting-chased-by-monsters-and-fighting-them-off-with-super-ninja-skills dream, and take his time getting to work between 8:00-8:30 am.

Alas, we have discovered several drawbacks to this new routine:
1. Mr. Husband almost always forgets his lunch on the kitchen counter.
2. The Hump Day ritual has the potential of being overlooked.
3. Mr. Husband dresses himself, often to disastrous results.

Today, Hump Day, we discovered that #2 exploded as I failed to hump my Mr. Husband in the morning, which means he also did not get his morning song of the made-up variety. My fault. Two relied-upon-happy-things were missing from his morning. I blame myself. He remembered his lunch from Tuesday that he’d forgotten the day before, but #3 fell completely into the toilet. Mr. Husband came whistling through the door this evening with not one, not two, but four fashion infractions modeled on his frame. The horror! I rue the day I bought those $75 dress pants for him that hardly match anything and require specific shoes! Why would he take my favorite shirt and murder it like that? Does he hate me? Is this my payback for failing to follow established Hump Day protocol?

Here is my Mr. Husband. Here he is in his I-got-a-computer-science-degree-from-Georgia-Tech splendor. The shirt does not match the pants on two levels: style (casual oxford to dressy-dress pants) and color (blue and green do not match this color of brown, which also has a pattern—classic pattern clash). To top it off, Mr. Husband puts his everyday shoes that are way worn out and look like little boy school shoes together with stripey socks. What was he thinking?

That’s right! He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t think. It’s not his fault. He didn’t know what day it was—he was confused. He was stumbling around in the dark, unable to manage his own wardrobe due to lack of the humping. The humping must prevail, and I dropped the ball. I fumbled.
I set my new job above of my Mr. Husband. Marriage fail.

Hump Day will be reclaimed … as soon as I get him out of those awful pants. I will set our life back to normal. My dear, dear wonderful husband will be restored to previous fashion heights.

Mr. Husband got me to go out with him back in 2006 by asking me to help him buy new clothes. He begged me, telling me that he simply couldn’t dress himself. Sweet, innocent man. He got the girl, and all of the clothes he had back then have been lovingly donated to Good Will. Today’s Hump Day massacre reminded me that my Mr. Husband requires careful attention.
I’m ready. Look at me all Scarlet O'Hara and all--I won’t let this happen again.

I'm hoping that one day we can put this terrible day behind us. One day.