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January 10, 2007
it's 2007 and so am I
What endearing nickname shall I give to the unborn child who claws at my midsection like a hyperkinetic iguana? Kicky McBurst? Lossy VonSavingsdrainer? I dunno, those just don’t seem catchy enough. At any rate, she is due to arrive here in a matter of weeks. I’ve moved from a state of denial to one of I guess I better buy a bunch of pink crap. She’ll be bunking in my home office for now since our product is launching the week she is due and mama gots to earn her monies. Perhaps I will just line a file drawer with some pink polar fleece. I wonder if she’ll know HTML, she could do a little work when she shows up, that would be helpful. It seems like the kids being born these days should come to the world knowing that stuff, beings how they are sort of from the future and all.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted, so naturally I have a few things to share. First, we’ve been having mild plumbing issues, resulting in an occasional back-up of our toilet. One week it seemed worse than usual, so we called Roto-Rooter to see if they could come snake the pipes. They did, charging us a cool $120 for their service. Not an hour later, the toilet backed up again, so I called them back and they said they would send someone over to take another look. I left my husband to deal with the second plumber and took off to buy some pink crap.
When I came home, I went into the bathroom and was hit by such a foul stench that I actually took a step back. “Jesus God!” I yelled to my husband, “What happened in here?” I imagined they had to open up some pipes or something, releasing long-trapped septic gases into the atmosphere. My husband sauntered in. “Oh, the plumber wanted to see if he could repro the problem, so he used the toilet.” I was smelling plumber poop!! I guess my husband didn’t really consider this out of the ordinary until I started grilling him. How did this “solution” come up? How long did it take? Could he HEAR him in there?! So we paid Roto-Rooter $120 to have a plumber come poop in our toilet. And the frigging thing still has the same problem.
One of the things I love about my husband, in addition to his cavalier attitude toward letting servicefolk poop in our toilet, is his occasional, broad declaration about some random thing. We were driving along the other day and out of nowhere he says “You know, if you were to get hit by a car and were obviously dead in the middle of the road, I’m not the type of husband that would rush out and scoop up your broken body in my arms and hold you until the paramedics came.” While some wives might have been offended, I was merely intrigued. “What would you do, sit on the curb and have a Coke Zero*?” I also wasn’t sure there were ‘types’ of husbands in this particular scenario.
He went on to clarify that he would be too upset to see me all smashed and couldn't handle it, much in the same way he could barely handle having to scoop up our beloved cat’s remains from in front of our house after he was hit by a car this fall. Thankfully, I was out of town for that. He confessed he had to use a cookie sheet because he couldn’t bear to touch/look at our poor kitty. He’s not squeamish at all; it’s just the personal association that does him in. “Of course,” he added, “You would have to be really dead and not just hurt.” I mulled this over. I knew what he was saying was, in its own way, sweet, for I know my husband well. But knowing him well also prompted my next question “Um, honey? What did you do with the cookie sheet…?”
* My husband loves Coke Zero so much that if a can of it were lying smashed and broken in the road, I’m pretty sure he would cradle it in his arms and weep until the recycling truck came.
Posted by Max at January 10, 2007 09:24 AM
Comments
You're back! I've missed reading your blog! Good luck on the pink crap!
Posted by: Emily at January 10, 2007 01:51 PM