Our Anniversary Date

Well, for 2 people who have done a darn good job at "dating" each other this year, we sure pulled out all the stops on our anniversary. Yeah. Umm-hmmm.

The hubby let me sleep in, which is not good for a day that is supposed to have any resemblance to productive in it. We didn't get each other gifts. He told me he was planning on telling me he loves me and then attacking me with kisses. He then did this several times throughout the day, and it made me laugh really hard. It was more silly than Gone With The Wind.

We got ready for our day, which means we took showers and put on outside clothes (jeans vs. pajamas). We talked about having coffee at Borders. Before all the Borders are gone. Then, I remembered, it is the Saturday before Christmas. I made him drive through the mall parking lot after we decided to skip that disaster.

I love being right. CRAZY BUSY.

We're so old. We drove all the way around a mall that we knew would be busy so that we could look at it and talk about how busy it was.

I've been nagging him to get a car wash because I need to clean the interior of the car this week. See how then the whole car will be clean? If I had the ability to purr, I would purr at that thought. See how it would all come together then? Nice.

There was a massive line for the car wash, but the husband pulled up anyway. Thankfully, the wait wasn't too bad. We talked about how the other cars weren't very dirty, and how there were a few that didn't even need to be there.

Then, he sprung for the super-awesome-best-they-have-clean-that-mofo-up wash. Out of 4 wash levels, he got the best one! Swoon!

Then, we did something we haven't done a lot of since we got married. Something we did A LOT of when we were actually dating the first time around. Although we had never done it in this setting before. It's not that we aren't romantic anymore or touchy-feely, because we definitely are. We just don't do this anymore just for the sake of doing it.

We made out in the car wash. Heh heh heh. 

Our lack of making out for the sake of making out definitely needs to change.

Anyway, then, we went to Sam's Club, and we got a bunch of non-romantic things. It still counts because we went together. Magically, it wasn't that busy and we didn't have any issues with crowds or checking out. The hubby got us a box of cheesecake bites to celebrate our big day. Nice move instead of candy!

We came home and decided to watch some tv. Yes, we're back in our jammies. Netflix had sent us The Tudors season 3 and we've had the damn Hurt Locker for literally 8 weeks or something.

"We are NOT watching the Hurt Locker on our anniversary," I stated.

He agreed. The Tudors didn't seem right either. I asked him if we could watch something we own. He immediately said, "Elf!"

Awwww. My favorite holiday movie. So we watched Elf and ate cheesecake bites and sat close together on the couch, kitties on our laps and dog at our side. Home. Happy. Anniversary.

Cue That Hanson MmmmmBop Song - It's About To Get All Romantic Up In Here

I like to tell my husband that "our song" is MmmBop by Hanson because that was the first song I remember us hearing together on our first date. We were at a baseball game and it came on over the speakers pre-game. He does not appreciate this at all. I distinctly remember him not appreciating it at the time either.

Which is why I enjoy bringing it up.

Anywho, this weekend is our 4th wedding anniversary. Cue Barry White? The only band we agree on is the Smashing Pumpkins. Not the most romantic group.

If we tried to actually pick a song, I know it wouldn't go well.

I'd be all Joshua Radin! And he'd be all zzzzzzzzzz snore snore zzzzzzzzzzz and then he'd say Chevelle and I'd just keep repeating "What is wrong with you?" indignantly over and over again.

Then, I'd yell "Those lyrics better not make you think of our love!" all dramatically and storm out of the room.

And scene.

If he says something about Weezer after reading this, I am going to punch him in the nuts. Not that Weezer is bad. I don't hate Weezer. But no.

How did I just go from fondly thinking about our wedding anniversary to threatening the hubby with a groin injury? I don't know, but if you start humming MmmBop, the mood in the room stabilizes and I dare you not to secretly enjoy those sweet chirpy lady voices that can only come from pre-teen boys.

What are we going to do? We're not really into elaborate anniversaries. Usually I at least get him a card. Didn't even do that this year. I am making his favorite meal. Does that count for anything? Can we ignore the fact that I would be doing that even if it wasn't our anniversary?

I don't expect any presents and have no problems with that. Cross my heart. He used to get me flowers but once we got married and were living together, the pets seemed to sense that prettiness was to be eliminated. Which is adorable and hilarious but isn't something we should encourage.

Everything always would seem very innocent.

Their eyes give them away. They scream, "Please leave the room for a minute!"

Then, they try to prove their innocence. A delicate sniff?

Surely I see their poise and how responsible they all are.

And... Turn my head away for one second.

Something like this is always happening when I look back.

So no on the flowers. I like candy and that's been a winner in the past but we have Christmas candy right now. I don't really need more candy. You're probably thinking, "But you can always use more candy!" which is true but I have a couple bags of candy. I'd want like a pie or a cake to break up all the candy. Pie is not a good anniversary gift. It is a bad anniversary gift. I don't know a lot, but I know that much.

I hope every year for no jewelry and have been lucky so far. I'm not a jewelry girl, but even if I was, there is just so much bad out there that I know he would find me impossible to buy for. Thankfully, he figured that out early in our relationship when the whole engagement ring thing happened. He wanted to buy me one, but I wanted my grandmother's ring. I think he was disappointed. Once he really understood, though, he was as happy with it as I was, which was pretty damn happy. And you can't beat free. 

Even now, we see ads on tv and I lose my mind over things like "chocolate diamonds". If I wanted diamonds that looked like they were dirty... Like they were bought at the Goodwill of Diamonds Store... Like the new hire at Jared happens to be colorblind (and probably deaf and mute)...

LIKE THEY WERE DIPPED IN SH*T...

Please shoot me.

Do not get me started on the other ad that is running every five minutes this year. Jane Seymour's jewelry line. Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman has lost her mind over that double heart, sands through the hourglass, drawn with her non-dominant hand looking design. It looks like a 3 year old drew it.

Did you know she also paints this design on CANVASES LARGE AND SMALL and sells these "paintings" for a ton of money? Oh, art. How you like to torture me.

The other big thing this year? Chunky jewelry sold by the bead and charm. Lots of mixed colors and metals. Now, I like my chunky jewelry, sure. I do not, however, like my chunky jewelry to be sold by a high end, galleria-type store. I am supposed to believe that now, since it was 400 bucks instead of 5, it is classy fancy time jewelry. Really?

Really?

REALLY?

Really.

I know a lot of woman love jewelry, and a lot of women look stunning in the types of pieces that I have listed. We all have our own unique tastes. It's just not for me.

What is for me? Maybe having the hubby stop at Sam's Club on his way home from work so I have one less errand to run this weekend. That would be so great. Sadly, I am not kidding. We need lots of romantic things? Okay, so what we need are items like paper towels, frozen pizza, and dog food. To make our house a home! TO MAKE OUR HOUSE A HOME!

Didn't think I could turn it all upside down like that and make it about love, did ya? I'm getting so good at this whole blogging about romance thing! Wow! I'm impressing myself!

Now, that's impressive!

My Xmas Decorations: Christmas Totally Ralphed All Over My House

Christmas decorations! This is me being subtle. Seriously. This is the most toned down get-up I've had for the holidays. Hark! If a partridge in a pear tree, geese going all Kate and Jon and their eight kids, or any type of cardinal appeared, our kitty elves would make that all stop. Immediately.

Well, maybe not immediately. Right after their under-the-tree naps.

Atlas is covering his little face here.

Yes, those are kitty beds under the tree. They sleep under there anyway, so they might as well be comfortable and on something I can wash often and easily. I do not know why I didn't think of this before this year.

Have you ever seen something in a store that was so ugly and weird that you fell madly and passionately in love with said thing and had to have it. Exhibit A: a set of very large, knitted, sequined owl ornaments.

HAD TO HAVE.

Just like those mugs. Love.

I don't even have a particular affinity for owls. I do, however, have a completely unrelated owl Christmas story. I used to work for a non-profit that paired volunteers with people who needed help learning to read, write, and speak English. I'd say 75% of the people were learning English as a second language but the rest had English as their first and only language. They often had learning disabilities or had to quit school at an early age (usually way back in the day). I would say 99.9% of the time, the story of the other person needing help was dramatic and touching, and his or her life was full of things that would make normal people cry. 

Anywho, one of our volunteers was this bubbly wife of a Notre Dame professor. She was very smart and dedicated, and she'd been volunteering for us for years. She was working at that time with this tiny, shy, elderly woman who spoke almost no English. I want to say she was from a small village no one had ever heard of in Japan or Korea or somewhere like that. Well, the holidays came along, and a lot of the volunteers and the people they helped gave each other holiday gifts.

The elderly woman wore a lot of older clothes but, of course, the volunteer noticed that she also always had a different pin on her shirt or sweater. The volunteer then bought her a sweet little brooch in the shape of an owl as a small Christmas present. The elderly woman was always baking things and such for the volunteer, so she was thrilled to have something to give to her in return.

When the woman opened the brooch, wrapped in pretty little white box with a red bow, well, let's just say it didn't go well. The woman dropped the present on the floor, spoke to the volunteer in a terror in her native language, and ran away from her out of a city library. RAN. Full speed. Olympic qualifying-type of exit.

Turns out, where she is from, the owl is a powerful symbol for death. It took several weeks with other family members and translations to figure out what happened and then to convince the elderly woman that the volunteer she loved and had spent such time with did not indeed wish for her demise.

I always kind of found that funny. Just put it in my "I'm a bad person" file and let's move on. Back to Christmas decor! The dining room and living room! A china cabinet full of things paws are not allowed to touch!

And a heavy table centerpiece so that tablecloth isn't on the floor whenever I walk by. Across from the china cupboard is one of my grandma's paintings. Holiday-i-fied.

I like keeping things so lit up at Christmas that I don't need to turn on lamps. Our main tree. I'm way into the poinsettias this year.

I also have massive garlands hung over the shutters at both ends of the room.

And my grandma's other little painting. BOOM sparkles! Do not ask how long it took for Mav to learn that the gingerbread man in the chair IS NOT A DOG TOY.

In the kitchen, I listen to a lot of Christmas music. Have all white holiday lights other than the little nightlights. Wear a holiday apron. Bake cookies for the BEST COOKIE JAR EVER.

The little Santa box by the cookie jar has extra ornament hangers just in case. How smart am I?

My window is all refined. Flowers and greenery and Hallmark ornaments. Even the new fridge has little cookie magnets.

Then, turn to the other side of the room. See the penguin tree and the display where I let all the crazy in my insides have their day. The sad part is I did not just close my eyes and throw decorations in that direction, letting them fall where they may. It's all on purpose, every bell, every pearl strand.

Kitties favorite place. Even more popular than under the tree.

See the stuffed penguin in the tree behind the happy Isley? That is their favorite thing to remove from my carefully made decorating scheme. Out of all of the house decorations. I never fail to find that thing somewhere else in the house at least twice a day.

Kitchen wall. It's like the wall is bleeding merriment.

Go ahead, try to make sense of it. Yes, Bambi is inside the wreath with a giant pink ball and a white dove. Why? What about that scene doesn't make sense?

I even create a holiday scene under our regular cat entertainment centers. Festive rugs, anyone?

After this photo, Pandora then got on the dining room chair there and hid under the tablecloth, batting at me as I walked by. I picked her up for a naughty kitty photo. Priceless "I Am A Bad Kitty" face.

See my opera house in the back? I surprised my gram's one year with season tickets to the Lyric Opera in Chicago. At the time, it was the most expensive thing I had ever purchased. When I found the light-up opera house at Walmart that year during the holidays, I knew it was meant to be. She was so surprised by the house and all the operas. Although I learned I'm not a live opera lover, I did love every moment that my gram's and I spent during those trips. I even bought the operas beforehand with translations and read them to her before each show. We had the best time dressing up and "going to town".

So that is my holiday scheme this year. Too much? I'd day it's about 50% my usual fare. The hubby sure puts up with a lot. I am his introduction to Christmas. Sure easing him into this new arena, right? Even after how many Chrismases, I know sometimes he's still like, "Wow." And then speechless. I'll leave you with the kitty the camera loves most, Mary Lou, in the kitchen centerpiece. Cute and crazy, all wrapped up in a jolly good time.

So. Adorable. Mustn't. Kill.

Around 2 am Sunday night, I found myself resting on the bathroom floor, covered in a couple old bath towels like they were blankets. By resting, I mean hyperventilating and shaking uncontrollably. Because that's fun. When you're the kind of sick that makes it impossible to just stay in bed because no matter what position you try, you're still in immense pain.

Not to mention you're worried you might throw up all over the linens and then you know you'll have to do laundry and remake the bed, but the washer is downstairs. You ask yourself how are you going to make it all the way downstairs when you can't even hobble 6 inches from the bathroom to where the blankets are kept, hence the bath towels... Don't even start me thinking about my ability to remake a king size bed in this condition.

In other words, too sick to be in bed.

So, bathroom floor. Give myself a small mental kudos for just buying those Laura Ashley bath mats on clearance on Kohls.com sight unseen. The hubby said when we put them out last week, "I think these are too nice to use. I don't feel like I should walk on them."

At this moment in the middle of the night, the mat on the toilet seat lid is impressing me the most, since I am on my back on the floor with my feet up on the closed, carpeted lid. So that I can continue enjoying consciousness. Because that's what I'm doing. Enjoying it.

4 am the husband rises. Stands in the hall, taking in all the prettiness. Sighs. I look at him with my eyes but can't move my body at the moment.

"Honey?" He rubs his face.

"Hi," I say, like this all normal.

I feel a little like one of those pictures in a haunted mansion with the eyes that move. I decide my best bet is to not mention that I am trying not to use any neck, head, or facial muscles. Maybe he won't notice. I definitely know better than to move any limbs, since they're shaking rather forcefully. I tell myself it's all because I just fight nausea with all that I am. If there is a cell in my body that I can use to stop myself from throwing up, then I use it. I just can't deal with the whole being unable to breath thing. At one point about an hour ago, I'm pretty sure my body said, "Pass out or throw up, Dumbass" and I picked pass out.

Keep it inside, I tell myself, meaning don't tell the hubby any of this but also, hey, you've done so awesome so far at not throwing up, double meaning motivational speech!

The dog is still sound asleep on the bed. She has not given a crap all night, which I am trying not to take personally. However, always somehow the equalizers, 4 or 5 cats are randomly around me, all sitting up and looking around, nonchalant. Caring but not caring. Also enjoying the plushness of the bathmats, since not one of them is on any tile.

The hubby gets ready for work and says he is going to Walmart first for some anti-nausea over the counters and Ginger Ale. I beg for Sprite. For some reason, when I tell him not to get Ginger Ale, the normal go-to in the house, because "it's too spicy, I can't handle it right now", he gives me a really quizzical look.

What? It's way too ginger-y. I'll never keep it down, I thought. THAT IS NOT WEIRD AT ALL. YOU'RE THE WEIRD ONE, HUSBAND, FOR NOT GETTING THIS. DUH.

Something about his face made me keep this to myself although I felt incredibly confident in my mental state. This is when he started offering to stay home with me.

I'm starting to feel well enough to get back in bed. Which is heaven.

See! I'm totally fine! Sort of!

I manage to convince him to go to work. I feel guilty enough that he's already been caregiver extraordinaire of the day by 5 am.

He goes to work after I promise several times that no matter how much better I feel later, I shouldn't, say, get on the roof and clean out the gutters today. I should rest and take it easy.

I promise upteen times and he leaves for work.

I feel better but do not move large pieces of furniture or steam clean the carpets. I sit on the couch and watch television, thinking about how lucky I am.

That's when the phone rings. Because someone is at work, on a busy Monday, calling to check on me at home.

Husband's Work Dinner At Soulard's Date

This is the part where I'm supposed to say, "All my worrying was for nothing! I had THE BEST TIME! So fun!"

I magically became a master conversationalist with an infectious laugh and infinite charm!

My hair blew around my head all shampoo-commercial-y even though there was no wind in the room!

Every step I took was accompanied by the soothing, jazzy notes of a piano player in the corner! He only played according to my effortless movements!

Yeah. That did not happen.

Happy hour started at 6 with dinner at 7. We planned to leave to arrive after happy hour started. I'd never been to Soulard or it's namesake restaurant, but I had heard it was a nice place. My husband said earlier in the week that he was going to wear what he had to work that day. Jeans and a polo.

Then, my husband got home that afternoon and PUT ON SLACKS AND A COLLARED, BUTTON DOWN SHIRT. Which blew my mind all the f*ck over the place. It's a good thing we don't keep a loaded gun in the bedroom because I would have shot myself.

So even though I wanted to open the door to the fridge and just climb on in there, I dove into my closet and barely came up for air. Everything I tried on was too dressy or too casual. The only thing I liked were my boots. Which probably weren't that acceptable to wear but I was so over myself by the point when I finally got dressed that I didn't care anymore.

My husband was just thrilled I was wearing shoes that I could walk normally in, as in no 3 inch heels. He is a very smart husband sometimes. When I appeared from the depths of all my costume changes, he immediately said, "You look pretty!" I doubt he even really looked at what I was wearing.

We took a couple quick pictures. Mav totally photobombed us! Bad dog! Bad!

And obviously Arty the cat was like, "Why are you guys bothering me in my peaceful slumbers? Be gone!"

I took a bunch of photos of all the Christmas glory in order to calm myself down. To be shown in a follow up post. We set up the barricade to the kitty room. Cat furniture, check. Baby gates, check. Chairs, check.

Mav has been sneaking in there whenever we go anywhere and eating all the cat food. She also manages somehow to not disturb our blockades and to bring out the cat dishes and leave them licked sparkling clean throughout the house.

Later, just between the two of us, my husband made what I was unaware was a joke about how his coworkers had thought I was a call girl when we first got married (they'd never met me). My hubby's funny was supposed to be on him, not me, since he was trying to say that they thought he couldn't find a girl. It took a lot of calming me down after he said this to me because I immediately said, "OH MY GOD WHY DID YOU LET ME WEAR MY HOOKER COAT THEN?" Thanks, black shiny trenchcoat.

Thankfully, this was only for our own ears. Sheesh. Someone was uber sensitive (that'd me be).

Anyway, we finally left the house and I kept telling myself, "I'm a pretty pretty princess! People like me!" over and over again. We hit traffic but managed to get to the restaurant by 6:30.

The restaurant was tiny. We had the upstairs for the event, which was basically a very small room. There were FIFTY people there. FIVE-ZERO. We got there and stood at the entrance of the room for a long time. No one talked to us and there were people wearing jeans. I would have suggested booking it but I knew the husband would never go for it. We finally moved slowly and awkwardly backwards, where we found the coat rack and restrooms.

When we reappeared, the name tag guy found us. He put the hubby's name tag on his chest with a manly pat. Then turned to me and said, "I'm not allowed to touch women." Ah, sexual harassment humor. My cuppa tea. I laughed and took the name tag from him.

We did not really walk through the room. We shuffled. Towards the appetizers. Random people kept introducing themselves and shaking my hands. I needed to hold a plate like NOW. Did not know what to do with my hands. I kept nervously adjusting my sweater. My husband and I found the food table and put some crackers on a plate. Then, he reached for the lid of the very large, heavy, and metal serving thing holding the toasted ravioli. The second he touched it, something happened and it came crashing down. The noise was jarring to say the least. The party grinded to a halt as everyone was literally silenced and turned to look at us.

Hi.

It was fine and everyone went back to their business. We had probably the only 2 non-alcoholic drinks in our hands and little plates in our other hands. So no more not knowing what to do with my hands!

I should mention that although it seemed like almost everyone was older than us, someone had brought their baby. Their new baby. As in, I think his wife had it on the way over here. SO TINY. And they were passing the baby around. Everyone was holding the baby. There is a God and He does love me because I managed to avoid holding the baby. I don't know how I would have ever gotten over dropping that thing. The hubby would go down in work history on my account with that one. No thanks. I prefer not to kill any infants at my first work event. Just imagine dropping it on the floor was bad enough, but there was also a very steep staircase. And tables. I could just see me dropping it and it bouncing off the table.

I did not want to have to get divorced and move to Antarctica.

Even though I managed to avoid killing a baby, I did not do well with the adults. I couldn't hide my nerves. I suck. I just nodded a lot and tried to smile but it was one of those types of smiles where in my head I was thinking, "Oh God, I know this is not a good smile. This is a very scary, unhappy smile happening all up in here" and then in my head I gesture at my own face.

I did finally meet the wife of one of the hubby's closer work friends, which I had been looking forward to. She took my ice cold drink from me so she could shake my frozen hand, which was a little different. Then she started asking about my 9 cats. Her husband was embarrassed for some reason and I found out later that he had tried to talk to her about how maybe she should not exactly not talk about the cats but maybe not lead with it, which made me laugh really hard on the ride home. Things made a lot more sense knowing that. Her husband gave us the Tron DVD and I lifted my arms in a hooray-type way but did it very sarcastically. Which was probably rude. But WHY GOD WHY? Double disc special edition! Really? 2 discs of Tron? I thought with Netflix not having it I was home free. But no. Thanks, Hubby's Work Friend. I wanted to offer to loan his wife the Twilight saga in retaliation but I didn't.

Finally, the standing and mingling part of the evening was over and we were asked to sit down for supper. There were 5 long tables with 4 seats on each side and one seat at each head of the table. Nothing assigned, of course, but some places had purses and whatnot on them. Everyone easily took their seats. Except us. We tried to find seats but it just didn't happen. So we were left standing there while everyone was sitting. As in, every single person is seated and we are standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Hi again.

We stood next to the table with 2 seats open. Oh, you know what we saw. You do. You so do.

2 seats. One at each end of the table. So we could both sit as far away from one another as possible at the respective heads of this table.

Please kill me.

Thankfully one gentleman took mercy on us and basically said we're all moving down and everyone moved for us. Sigh of relief there.

The hubby and I ended up sitting together in the middle of one of the sides. So we were between two conversations. Just enough to not be able to hear well and not participate wholly in either one. At one point, I actually said to him, "I don't know where to look." We were at a table with no one that we had small talked with during happy hour.

The very kind waitresses brought out salads. Or, more accurately, they brought me a plate with about 10 GIGANTIC pieces of lettuce on it. I fought with that for about 20 minutes. I made some noises while eating that were accidental and that I am not proud of. For example, somehow my mouth made a noise like when you're drinking out of a straw and there is only ice left in your cup. Sllllllluuuuuuuurp. Only I had no straw and was just eating. As loud as the room was, it was of course pretty quiet at that moment.

Then they brought a steak out to my husband and a chicken breast out for me. Well, technically, they brought out plates of pepper with a dash of protein on them. Still, pretty damn tasty. I should have taken the chicken BREAST as a sign.

I think I would have enjoyed it more if my chicken had not been overshadowed by my actual breasts. See the pretty necklace? The chain was my grandma's, because I needed her helping me this evening, and the pendant was actually a clearance pin I bought a couple years ago. One I've never worn.

Out of nowhere, in the middle of eating, my giant brooch unclasped without warning from the chain and fell into my boobs. Right down my shirt. Look at the size of that thing. Not exactly subtle. Yeah. I am the epitome of grace and loveliness. I made a little noise and fished it out and stuck it in my purse. *High fiving a million angels* ala Liz Lemon from 30 Rock.

The hours went by. The group on my left said things like "The last time I was in Rome" and "You just have to stay in bed and breakfasts in Europe!" and I'm pretty sure someone said "I concur" in a non-sarcastic way. I tuned out most of the rest of it and said little.

On the other side, although the two couples were very nice, I couldn't quite be a part of their conversation either. The other two wives were very back and forth, with one including me and the other refusing to make eye contact with me for the entire 3 hours. Which made it kind of difficult. The one asked me about what I did (yay) and where we met (double yay). Shoot me now, please.

We talked about our pets a little and she threw me a bone and told me I was a stay at home mom just like her (she also had human children, though, a 1 year old and a 4 year old). So that was really nice of her. To not say I was the least motivated and interesting person alive. Then, it sort of went "Did you watch Lost? and the hubby and I were all "No" and then they talked amongst themselves. They asked what the last movie was that everyone saw and ours was Harry Potter, but before we could say that, one mentioned how they might go see the new Harry Potter and how they were embarrassed to admit that. I just kept my big mouth shut and kept drinking pop and water when the pop ran out. I would say about one time out of every four when I lifted my glass up, I either hit myself in the face with my straw or went to suck on my straw and it was nowhere near my mouth. I think I looked like I was doing an impression of a fish minus the aquarium every 5 minutes or so.

Um... So... We had Amish cheesecake for dessert, which tastes just like cheesecake. Only Amish.

The plates were all removed, glasses began to empty. Couples started standing and then some got their coats and made their exits. I watched jealously.

The second the hubby was inclined to leave, I was bolting for the door. Bolt, bolt.

We got in the car and he said, "Never again, huh?"

I laughed and said, "Just get me home."

Then, I apologized for not being able to make the evening fun and said, "I will go to as many of these things as you want me to go to. Because I love you."

And we came home and the presents were still under the tree and the kitty room had not been violated. All was again right with our world.

The Epipen Is Not For Panic Attacks

Also, the Epipen is not for fancy smancy events.

Am I exaggerating? Sure. Still, here is a picture of my Epipen. In case life decides it wants to try and kill me. All I have to do is come into contact with a Sulfa drug, possibly be stung by a bee, or perhaps ingest a fennel seed.

I think the most frightening part of having my Epipen is how gun-ho my husband seems to be about using it. From the moment my allergist described how to use said injection, the hubby was practically jumping up and down in excitement. He has been ready to stick a needle deep into one of my muscles for years now. He has taken it upon himself to be the declared giver of said medicine. At any time, any place. For some unknown reason, he has appointed himself Epipen extraordinaire. Even though he has certainly never given anyone any type of shot (unlike me, the former nurse). Sigh.

Anyway, I might have been happy to let him cause me great needle-related pain if it meant I could get out of our big date. All week I've been dreading tonight. The hubby's big fancy smancy work dinner is at a type of restaurant we have never frequented. I'm a Steak N Shake kind of girl. We had fancy meals on our honeymoon... But they were in our hotel room. The Bellagio is no Red Roof Inn, but I fear it doesn't count if I don't have to juggle twenty different forks in front of other people.

I know one has nothing to do with the other, but the fact that I've already epically failed at winning over his family keeps coming into my mind. You know, since I'm pretty sure he's still "forbidden" to be married to me. At the same time, the rational part of me knows they never really tried to get to know me, so I don't take it so personally these days. Finally meeting the people he spends his work days with is weighing heavy on me. What if they realize the second I walk  into the room just how much better he could have done? I turn into a tween again, all "They're going to hate me!" and staying in bed, under the covers, surrounded by the cats and dog until noon.

Why did I agree to this? I'm not a social person. I'm a stay at home housewife who likes her little house and her brood of pets and her husband. I've always been quiet, especially around people I don't know. It's amazing I found my husband in the first place and managed to give him a front row seat to the real me. Both amazing and admittedly slightly sad and pathetic, since he then gets to see me on days like this. There's no elaborate other me that can put on my clothes and trick him into thinking I am a confident, lovely lady on his arm. He gets Happy Wife in panic mode.

The wide eyed horrified girl who is sure she's going to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. The one who is sure that everyone at the table is going to be thinking, "THIS is who he ended up with? This is the girl? Really?"

It doesn't help that we're going to have a meal. I have food allergies that can be rather daunting. Horrifying. Nightmare inducing. It doesn't help that we can't seem to find the source of the allergies other than that they happen when we eat out.

Should I wear a turtleneck to hide any reaction I may have? My neck likes to look all pandemic-like if I have a bad situation happening.

I get to bring a purse full of Benadryl along with said Epipen. I mean, sexy right? Are they going to search me? Do fancy restaurants have their version of the TSA?

I was up for all of 7 minutes when the hubby came home from work. I immediately got back in bed and fussed.

"How many people will be there? A hundred?" I then made cranky noises that did not remotely resemble actual words although I said them with a cadence like they were still part of the conversation. Sort of like Charlie Brown's teacher if she was really upset.

"Twenty, at most," he replied.

"So, a thousand... A million?" I sighed loudly. Twice.

He just laughed at me and said, "Yes, Dear, there are going to be a million people there."

I told him I need to be 20 pounds thinner before going out of the house ever again.

Then, I thought about how the one thing I have kept from my youth is acne. Hooray. *Eye rolls* My 1 am tweezer attack on my eyebrows also did my help my face today. I managed to not say this out loud.

I thought about all the questions. The normal ones.

"So what do you do?"

"When are you two going to start having kids?"

"How did you two meet again?"

Um... Nothing, never, and online. I have no goals or ambition, want to get "the coils" as I call them, and I seduced him on the Internet.

And the chorus will all be crickets. Tumbleweeds will roll past our table. I may hear a sad ghost town western soundtrack in my head.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

What am I supposed to say? I'm technically still a licensed nurse and just leave out that I intend to never go back into the nursing field? That I spend all day eating Cheetos and watching soap operas?

Okay, so I haven't had Cheetos in years and I don't watch soap operas, but sometimes my life is comparable to that. This past Wednesday, I spent a whole day catching up on Glee and drinking equal parts hot chocolate and marshmallows.

I don't think telling everyone that I take care of our TWELVE special needs cats and the world's most insane dog is a viable option. That sounds worse than telling them what I do on the days when I do leave the house. Hi, sometime last week I power shopped at all 4 local Marshalls and TJ Maxx stores and then made a supper where Velveeta was the main ingredient and chicken and broccoli had very small supporting cast member roles.

I am FREAKING OUT. What am I going to wear? What am I going to say? I have issues speaking English, my ONLY language, in front of others all the time and just in general half the time. AND I HAVE A BACHELOR'S DEGREE IN ENGLISH.

My husband keeps telling me it will be fun. That he 100% wants me to go and is sure it will be great.

Know what I'm sure of? That I don't own anything that makes me look thin and that the dog is going to not only break into the kitty room and eat all their food while we're gone, but she's also going to open all the Christmas presents. I better take pictures of all the decorations because they're all going to be down when we get home.