|Look at all that makeup. Clearly this was before my downward slide.|
Actual conversation in my kitchen:
Me: (cutting out pumpkin shaped sandwiches) how long do you think the kids will think this is cool? I mean homemade bread and themed sandwiches? I’m sure I’m on borrowed time.
Husband: (Reading NYT business section over his dinner plate at 10pm.) What do you mean? They love the bread and get mad when the sandwiches aren’t the right shape.
Me: I know that now, but soon they’ll be all “ugh, mom can’t you just buy bread like normal people. You’re so embarrassing!”
Husband: Just don’t show up to deliver the lunches with a shirt that says, “Nuclear free zone” and you should be alright.
Me: Ha! Then they’ll be like, “mom, what’s up with the 3 foot braid and haven’t you heard of hair dye?!?”
Husband: Seriously, you’ve gone round the bend.
Later that night we were talking about our days.(I might have been cleansing my face with organic witch hazel. Whatever.) His plan was to go to work in NYC, then train to Philly were he would take clients out for drinks. You know, just a little captain of industry stuff.
I on the other hand would be without a car so I was listing all the things I could walk to around town or get done at home.
He actually said to me, “so you have a normal Friday planned right? Just home making clothes from hemp?”
I get no respect.
When we met we were so similar. I was going to take on the world and he and I would be a power couple. Now, he’s a power guy and I’d rather live on a commune than dominate the business world. Thank God he is amused by my hippy tendencies and not repulsed. I’m convinced it’s because he knows no matter how much sandalwood oil I douse myself in, I’ll never go grey. Never.
A girl’s gotta have standards.
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