Sharing is Caring

On Saturday Stu and I were supposed to go out with my best friend and her husband - two people that we both love.  Which is unsurprising, because my friends are awesome.  His, however... well, he may like his friends, usually I do not. 

Anyway.  That day, Stu woke up and told me that he wasn't feeling well.  I encouraged him to lie down and rest, hoping that he would feel up to going out by the time we had to leave.  But no.  Instead of resting, he decided to go and can tomatoes with my mother-in-law.  Firstly, he had plans with me.  Secondly, I didn't want his germs in my tomatoes.  Like the typical male he is, he ignored me and went up to his mother's.  Then he decided that he was too ill to go out.  (Which cause a domino effect of my best friend's husband then cancelling.)

Needless to say, I was not impressed.

Not only was he ditching me, but he potentially infected all the tomatoes with his germs.  Ick.

And then he gave them to me.  The germs that is.

When I told him I was sick on Monday with his germy cold, he told me that as my husband he was legally responsible to give half of what he owned to me. 

I glared at him.  He laughed.

Then I told him that I didn't forget things...ever.

He brought home dinner.  And made me tea.

And if I get sick because of infected tomatoes, I'm puking on his side of the bed.

My Chubby Pussy - Updated

I admit it.  I have a chubby pussy.  I have overfed it, and now it has boobs of its own.  It didn't used to be chubby.  It used to be quite svelte.  But over the last number of years, as the weight has gone on, and the excercise has become a forgotten memory, it has become chubby.  I worry about it. 

Presents From My Husband

Papasan Turns 72

Today my dad (whom I call Papasan - and yes, I realize it's a type of wicker chair like thing you get from Pier 1 - stop judging!) is 72 years old.  I know we're not supposed to have favourites, but he's mine.  My mother and I have always had a rocky relationship, and my father was the calm in the storm.  Not that he was around much when I was growing up - he worked 7 days a week to keep a roof over our heads,  food on the table and clothes on our back.  It was my mother who shuttled me (and my sister before me) to practices and lessons.

And yet, my father, the quiet man that he is, the enigma that he was, always had a presence in the house.  Even if he was just sleeping on the couch after getting home from a 15 hour day.  Over the years, our relationship grew and I pried at the layers of privacy that he wrapped around himself.  We would talk about politics, about my school work (I went back to school at 25 and stayed with my parents for two years), about family history, my mom's hormonal craziness, about how I'm the favourite daughter.  It's totally true, you know.  I am the favourite.

I saw my father smile more, and when I moved an hour away and would call (though not as often as I should) he stayed on the phone longer, telling me about his day, and what he'd seen in the newspaper that might interest me.  And I like being the type of daughter that doesn't just call when she needs something, or to complain about her own life.  I want to know more about my father, to create memories of him that I will be able to take out and look at and smile when he's no longer here.

My father is the man I measured all prospective partners to - not in the Daddy's Girl kind of way.   I wanted to find someone who was compassionate, worked hard, was knowlegeable and loved me.  My husband is not like my father in most ways - but he does have all of those traits.   One of these days I'll remember to thank him for showing me what I deserved in a partner.  Although, with his gruff nature, he'll probably just shoo me away, and tell me to stop being so foolish.  But I'll see the thank you in his eyes, and I'll know that he appreciates it.

So, to my Papasan... Happy Birthday to You!  May you have many more, and may I still continue to be your favourite daughter. ♥