Remember the other day I wrote my very first love poem ever for the Nearly Perfect Husband?
Hang on, let me find it so you don’t have to go searching…. it’s so long and complicated… wait a sec…. Okay, here:
So, he loved it.
I mean, how could he not?
Okay, he called me a ‘freakoid’, but I think that is a term of endearment that, translated, means “I had absolutely no idea that you are such an awesome poet”.
Something like that.
Anyway, for a really long time – we are talking days here – after I wrote that, he was totally going for ‘Perfect’ status (vs. ‘Nearly Perfect’) and I was pretty sure that he was doing that because he totally appreciated the effort I put into the poem, and not because he thought forks would be used as weapons against him.
At least that’s what he told me when I asked him.
So let’s fast forward to yesterday, shall we?
Yes. Let’s shall.
So I am in the kitchen with lots of non-kitchen stuff all around me like envelopes and paper and markers.
I’m totally craft-y.
And I’m on my computer and I’m looking very much like a graphic designer (you know, hip glasses, hair pulled back in a messy but sexy bun, artist-y clothing…)
And by that, I do mean sitting in my pajamas at the counter with my reading glasses on.
But I do have craft-y stuff all around me and I’m in the process of designing the graduation invitations for Mac’s and Half-Kid Jack’s graduation party.
And there is even a theme, and that theme is “Kentucky Derby” because they are graduating from a school in Kentucky and Mac loves a good dress and hat.
Because she spent the last four years in Kentucky and now she is wicked southern.
So I’m on the computer
stealing choosing a lovely image to represent the Derby on my fancy, custom-designed invitation*, and am working very hard on the copy (that’s design industry lingo for ‘words’). And the whole time I am talking to the Nearly Perfect Husband about the date (May 31st) and the food – burgoo, hot brown bites, horseshoe-shaped sandwiches, lamb to dip in mint julep sauce…. Oh ya, I’m goin’ for it. And he is totally interested and talking and laughing along right with me the whole time.
And we are planning our work next week – let’s make sure the lawn is mowed and we have enough propane for the pool and we can clean up the yard and I have to get lots of roses (run for the roses, right?) and then I’m working on the envelopes and literally hand drawing gold horse shapes on the bottom of every one.
This chatting/banter continued – on and off – all craft-y and plan-y day. Including when Self-Proclaimed-Perfect-Boy-Gabe came home from school and admired my handy work (and by that, I mean slapping his headphones on and watching European men kick a soccer ball around on YouTube).
So, later on I was saving and printing and getting the address book out so I could finish the envelopes, and it was time for dinner.
And the alarm went off in the Nearly Perfect Husband’s head that it was now the critical time to empty the dishwasher because now I was going to be working in the kitchen.
But before he did, he checked in with his computer on the nearby countertop and got all sorts of excited.
“Oh, this is great.” he says “Oh, this is awesome.” he says. And when I say “What is?” he says “Well, you know Alfred (it wasn’t really ‘Alfred’ but I’m terrible with names), the Dad from Gabe’s soccer team? Well, he said that he is going to do a barbecue for the team for the end of the season.”
And I am cutting something on the cutting board and I say that is cool.
And he says, “It is. They are so nice. Okay perfect I’m going to tell them this date is great, okay. Done. What can I do to help?”
And I say to stay out of my kitchen (and I think I said ‘please’ because I’m all about niceties and manners).
And I happened to ask when the date for the soccer barbecue is.
And he says the 31st.
And I say “May 31st?”
And he says “Yes” and he is all smiley and excited.
And I look at him, like he has three heads and I say, “Like a week from this coming Saturday?”
And he says ‘yes’ and still looks back at me and is all excited and smiley.
And then I cock my head to one side and I’m pretty sure he could see that I might be readying to pick up a fork – and not necessarily to stab myself in the eye.
And he is a little more tentative, and says, “What?” (kind of meekly).
And I say, ‘Well…’ and I motion my head to the carefully designed and printed out invitations and hand-drawn envelopes that are strewn all over my work area about six feet from where he is standing (and now trembling a bit, I think).
And he looks over at the same area and actually says, “Uh. What?”
And I say, “The 31st?”
And he says nothing.
And I say, “The 31st?”
And he says nothing again.
And I say, “You mean the 31st, as in the day of the graduation party?”
And he says, calmly and without any sense of irony, “Oh!” and follows that up with (drumroll please):
And now I’m going to have to go through the entire weekend’s graduation festivities, and the whole Kentucky Derby-themed graduation party with a fork in my eye, dammit.
I feel another poem coming on…
Thanks for readin’.
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* Wicked Legit Legal Disclaimer: This is an awesome image and please, please don’t sue me, kentuckyderby.com.