First, I want to say a HUGE thank you to all of you for your supportive comments and e-mails in the past few weeks. Every time I think I might be done with blogging, I’m reminded of how much the people I know and experiences I’ve had because if it, have enriched my life in ways I’m unable to explain to non-bloggers. Sometimes my busy life keeps me from visiting you all, but please know how much I think of you. And how much the friendships that I’ve made with “strangers” around the world means so much to me. How much you make me feel less alone. Thank you.
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On another note, I’m in serious need of a laugh. Because I’m such a good wife, I’m going to tell you about how I managed to mortify the husband in front of his co-workers. Twice in once day. I have mad skillz in the Husband Embarrassment Department.
Incident the First: I’m in the reception area of Jay’s office, talking to two of his co-workers. One of them is introducing me to the other. In case it wasn’t clear who I was from my name alone, I pipe up, “I’m Jay’s husband.” Of course, you can never shove those words back into your mouth. A discussion followed about how my husband’s secret was out, that he’d been dressing in drag all these years. That he was actually the wife. When I told Jay about it, he admitted that when you think about who actually wears the pants in the family… He’s a smart man, my wife.
Incident the Second: This one starts the same evening during an argument with a four-year-old over pizza. Jay offered to make dinner by dialing the pizza place, but as usual, we couldn’t decide on where to order from. Elliot puts in her two cents begging for “Three” (Pizza 73) because they have curly fries. Ever since she had pizza and curly fries with her “favoritest person in the world”, my aunt Sandy, she thinks it sacrilege to have pizza without fries. The problem is that Jay and I wanted Pizza Hut, which is alas, curly fry-less. In a flash of motherly brilliance and desperation, I broke the pizza deadlock by suggesting that I run out to the store and buy curly fries. I needed a few other things anyway, so it was no big deal.
I go to the grocery store. They have every item I need. Except the bloody curly fries. If I return to the house without the promised goods, the four-year-old will quite possibly eat me for dinner and she will hold her crushing disappointment over my head for years to come. This will not do.
I drive the three blocks to another grocery store. Who knew it was possible to have a panic attack in the frozen foods section? I’m madly scanning the fry-related offerings – chunky fries, spicy fries, crinkle fries, home cut fries, even onion rings – but there are no freaking curly fries.
Then I hear, “Hi neighbor.”
It’s one of Jason’s co-workers and his wife, who also happen to live right behind us. I explain my dilemma. He looks at me and laughs. “Andi, who’s the boss of you?” Without hesitation, I reply, “Elliot.”
The two of them are quite entertained that I’ve been running all over town on a great Curly Fry Mission. They are amused in the same way that most people expecting their first child would be amused – they’re thinking, “We’ll never be like this after our kid is born.”
Then he laughs, “Well, I guess you could get that giant, warehouse bag.”
I look to where he’s pointing and YES, YES, there is over 4 pounds of curly fries just waiting to make a home in my kid’s belly.
My neighbor looks at me. “Really? That’s huge! And it’s almost 10 dollars.”
Meh.
“I just saved your ass,” he says. Sadly, he has. Then he tells me that he is going to bug Jason mercilessly because our daughter “owns us.” I can’t deny it. And although the kiddo is far from a spoiled brat who gets everything she asks for, sometimes I love doing small things that make her happy.
Crisis and curly-fry-meltdown averted. Elliot tells us that this is “the best meal of my life.”
The next day, Jay repeated the quote to his giggling co-worker (who, let’s be clear, is a sweet, funny person and for for whom, I may have played up my anxiety just a tiny bit, to make him and his wife laugh – and of course, to embarrass my husband) and he agreed that my misadventure was worth it. I can’t wait to visit them after their baby is born so I can say, “She totally owns you.”
