Behooved to share my shopping feat....

Does it make sense if I say we're not impulse shoppers but we follow our impulses shopping? Our wills are made of the strongest material, a woven fabric of consciousness embedded with practicality, innate frugality and a layer of realism glued down with common sense.
Hence the reason I can stand in a backed up checkout line at the super market and not only look at the rows of candy but actually not WANT any of it. Candy bars schmandy bars, don't need em or want em. I fully realize that my confidence is shored up by the very foundation of some damn good 70% dark chocolate at home....but still. Pretty impressive huh?
We don't buy gum, we don't buy magazines and sometimes we walk down the cookie aisle and talk about checking to see if they have any good organic fruit this week....and our eyes don't even dart to the side, nor does drool drip from our lips. And I really mean it this time, not a drop of drool dampens the store floor...not a drop.
We can go to a department store and while we do enjoy browsing and meandering our way amongst the shelves and aisles, we don't randomly throw bits of "gots to haves its, really needs its or ohhhhhh mine mines!" in to the cart all willy nilly.
Because we are not impulse shoppers.
I have said it before and there's no one I like better to quote than myself so I shall say it again....(plus some things like coffee, sunset gazing and brownie baking are worth repeating) I like making purchases when I've had time to read reviews. Things are just better when 376 other people have already agreed that it is.
Also we like to comparison shop, we like to see if THOSE highball glasses are really the BEST highball glasses, if THAT book is available on Half.com or if there's a recipe for something so I can make it from scratch instead of store bought.
I know, we're crazy people huh.....neck deep in web links, tabs and bookmarks for anything that strikes our fancy. NASA probably doesn't put as much thought into their astronaut socks as we do into our grapefruit seed extract.
Like I said we're NOT impulse shoppers...........BUT......(I just love big buts)
BUT, we follow our impulses. Which is to say that should it strike our fancy to make some homemade bread we will pop out and purchase the necessary ingredients on a spur of the moment whim, we will grab the latest Wii video game that we were lusting after AND make no apologies for sampling Häagen-Dazs' newest flavour (Fleur de Sel caramel ice cream) when we see it at the store.
At times there's almost a psychic quality to our impulses, never have I had any buyer's remorse that I can recall. There are times when my sweetie and I will pause in front a box of wine glasses on a busy Target aisle and just KNOW, those are OUR wine glasses. A quick look we share, words need not be spoken and in to the cart it goes. It's not impulse shopping, it's following the psychic impulse to buy what's really already ours....just a few minor details like payment and timelines stand between us and our glasses.
We have come to rely on this sense, if we should shuffle our feet and frown and ponder a little too long over a a potential purchase often times we pass it by. Figuring if it were reallllllly meant to be ours, or we reaaaaaaaaaly wanted it than we'd have it in our cart already.
I can not count the number of times me or my sweetie has enthusiastically blurted "Do you want to just get it? Want to? We'll just get it!"
And when we do, when we follow this impulse that is vibrating in our brains tellings us we NEED this item we never regret it.
Like toe shoes.
Well they're not called toe shoes but that's what they are. Shoes that are like toe socks, only shoes. God, don't you just want to faint from the glory of that very idea? TOE-SHOES!
It's like the shoe people reached in to our brains and plucked from amongst the rabble inspiration for shoes we didn't even know we needed.
Shoes for people who like to be in their bare feet. But bare feet, while comfy and relaxing at home, gets you some majorly annoyed scowls at the grocery store.
My husband ran across these shoes in the typical way one runs across anything on the internet. He was reading up on these people who run in their bare feet, or almost bare feet and were supposedly the fastest marathon runners on earth.
A few million link clicks later and a gasp of such impending importance reverberated through the house alerted me to a life changing discovery by my husband. He forwarded me the link...I looked....I loved.....
TOE SHOES!!!!
Incredibly flexible, thin shoes that's almost like wearing nothing at all..EXCEPT, their soles protect your footsie wootsies from sharp sticks and glass and the general ick of pavement filth and citified nature trails. Oh, and of course they have the marvelous advantage of each toe having it's own little compartment.
We stared at them in combined amazement, it was another one of those "understandings". These were cool. We both knew it, we both wanted them.
I'll admit they're the priciest pair of shoes either of us has ever bought, actually they're the second priciest bit of apparel I've ever owned. (the first being my wedding dress that came in at a whopping 100 dollars!) We're frugal and proud of it BUT unlike some ordinary shoes these are shoes that really feel unique. Just like walking in your bare feet, you can feel the textures of grass, dirt, sand, pavement and twigs under your feet.
If you're asking yourself "why would any one want to feel that?" then you just don't *get it*. These shoes add a whole new level of tactile sensation to a walk, and if you have any interest at all in enjoying a bit of nature and out of doors than I can not recommend them enough!
They also encourage you to get out and walk more, just to feel new things under your feet. Have no fear that my shoes are actually talking to me, whispering sweet nothings in my ears, telling me I should walk up the side of the cement steps, take a stroll through the bushes, wander over the yellow bumpy things on the ground in front of the grocery store, climb a tree or start researching parks like mad so we can find more places to go walk around in our toe shoes. I thought of all those things on my own, inspired like heck by my new footware.
The FiveFingers add to the *barefoot feel* by fitting your feet like a glove, the material hugs your foot like a second skin. Snug but not too tight, it seems unlikely you'd suffer from blisters in shoes like these. They're machine washable too so I can't wait to find some mud to tromp through. I suppose I could make some mud....
The Vibram FiveFingers KSO shoes are a welcome addition to our family. It's amazing how a little thing like a bit of molded rubber for your feet can be so inspiring but it's true. We have already visted two different local parks and walked further than we ever have before down our little road here, just during this past week alone.
Supposedly the Vibram FiveFinger shoes can strengthen your feet muscles and that you will have greater foot flexibility since your toes are separated and you use them more for walking. Also that your posture is improved and leg muscles can be strengthened as well. That's a lot for a pair of shoes to accomplish but when you wear them for an extended period of time walking it doesn't sound so crazy. Just by virtue of the fact we've been inspired to go for longer walks over rougher terrain than pavement is going to bring us some added health benefits.
And ya know what? We looked dang cool doing it too. I am so glad we follow our impulses.

Rooting for it!

How you know when you're waaayyyy too happy about a recent trip to the Endodontist? First you write a poem about your root canal, then you sing it so much it gets stuck in your head AND your husband's, then you make your computer's speak program sing it to you when you tire of your own voice, then you record the computer and put it on your blog. That's how you know.
Listen to my root canal poem/song: ("Alex" the computer voice doesn't know how to say the word "Nasties". Silly computer.) The Lyrics are below, sing along...you know you want to....

No one's ever loved a root canal
Like I loved getting a root canal.
A root canal can be a gal's best friend.
When your head is throbbing
and you're sick of sobbing,
A root canal can make the nasties end.

A root canal's a lovely thing
if all you want to do is sing
instead of moaning curled up on the kitchen floor.
Drilling teeth's not usually so fun
But you'll be glad when it is done
and wish that you could go for 7 more.

Cause a root canal is over looked,
other vacations all are booked,
But the dentist's chair's relaxing in the end.
If your teeth are screaming mad,
your cavities are awful bad,
A root canal can be a gal's best friend.

Oh drill me
Then fill me
Poke holes in my back tooth.
Then crown me
Don't frown see
I'm better off it's truth!

No one's ever loved a root canal
Like I loved getting a root canal.
A root canal can be a gal's best friend.
When your jaw is killing you,
and another day you can't get through,
A root canal can make the nasties end!

The Root Of All Evil....

I like to picture where Satan resides.
His hot little hell hole deep in earth. Ripe with disgusting, stagnant filth and the piercing cries of little minions.
But I was wrong. Satan doesn't live in the earth, turns out the old feller has been residing in my seemingly innocent back tooth. I always knew there was something a little evil about me, a certain glint in the eye when I stared deep into the abyss of my own reflection as I practiced making faces. Who knew I may have been housing pure evil in my number 31, aka back tooth?
Perhaps I'm being overly dramatic, perhaps it's not that Satan's lived there all along, it's just that my tooth was a portal for him this past weekend. A doorway if you will, that would let him wreak pain and havoc topside, on the earthly realm. To do a nasty little poking spree, with his three pronged pitchfork, in to the delicate soft innards of my tooth nerves. Of all the nerve, yes really of ALL THE NERVES? WHY MINE?
I've heard people talk about excruciating pain before. And ya think you know pain, I mean just 6 days ago I slammed the back of my ankle on our mini trampoline legs as I was putting it away. The trampoline away I mean, not my ankle, and in pain and shock jerked my foot forward, away from the offending leg and smashed it directly into the next leg, resulting in a colorful assortment, a party pack if you will, of bruises on the front and back of my foot. It hurt, like "owie, owie, owwwwwwwwwwwie, holy fricking hannah" my honey buns running for ice for my foot as I alternated laughing and maybe a wee tear or two, type hurt.
But I was wrong. That wasn't pain.
That was foreplay for pain.
I think maybe the universe just wanted to give me a heads up, didn't want me walking blindly into the week-end of excruciating, mind numbing hell I was about to endure with out a little pain preview ya know? A little something to get the ball rolling. Gee, thanks universe.
Long story short, 3 medications later, frantic phone calls to 3 dentists and waking poor root canal doctors from their toothy slumbers on a Sunday morning later I am feeling goooooood. Practically slobbering with anticipation for my root canal, unable to sleep as a side affect of one of the meds but feeling gooooood.
Weird thing, after the strange, nightmarish blur of a week-end until finally I met my new temporary best friend Dexamethasone, everything tastes sooo good. Every joke Alan cracks and a few he didn't even mean to crack is the funniest damn thing I ever heard. The sitcoms are funnier, the ice cream is tastier and I finally had a coffee...oh yes, I didn't have a single gloriously creamy iced coffee since..umm....I dunno, the last few days are sort of a blur and they can stay that way thank-you very much.
Seriously thank-you brain, you marvelously shriveled muscle residing in me skull, I thank-you. You and your amazing capacity for enduring the tortures of a tooth that I think was seriously pissed off at me (maybe I cracked one too many God jokes and he got pissed and smited me a bit?) Just a thought, one of many crazy ones, one will have with their hand plunged in a bowl of ice to help distract from the agony in one's mouth.

Things I have learned:

• Clove oil
• Peppermint Oil
• Colloidal Silver
• Sea Salt Water
• Ginger Tea
• Iodine
• Ice
• Raw garlic
• Raw onion
• Bowl of ice water to plunge the opposite hand to the side of hell face into
• Pressure points on hands and feet
• Head and neck massage from hottie blue eyed husband
• Tylenol
• Aspirin
• Advil
• Antibiotics
• and 2 kinds of prescription pain killers

.....make a bizarre little cocktail for a weekend and only mildly alleviate Satan-esque pain. Like mildly as in if your entire head felt like it was exploding and you put a Donald Duck Band-aid under your right ear....like that will make it all better. Note how the list progresses.....clove oil to prescription pain killers.
I have a high tolerance for pain. You have to when you careen into doorknobs and desk corners as often as I do...but this....this I'm pretty sure gives me free reign to use 17 of the choicest curse words in a steady stream for 92 hours straight in varying degrees of intensity and arrangement and if you knew the pain I had you would be all "You go girl, curse that tooth out!"
The funny thing is, you can probably tell from my list we are not medicine type people. My dear sweetie had to run out and buy the various pain killers cause all we had was aspirin that had an expiration date from like 2002 on the bottle. Though we're not sure if the pills in the bottle actually had an expiration date THAT old as we both had a very vague recollection of putting newer aspirin in the bottle....though why we did that we don't know, and since neither of us have the foggiest recollection of the last time we even bought aspirin it was pretty safe to say these were probably expired too.
We always reach for the home remedy, the natural and the herbal treatment first. We pride ourselves in not overly polluting our bodies, why hell I had two lovely first time made loaves of chewy sourdough 100% whole grain rye bread loaves sitting in my oven waiting to to be tore into with organic butter and aged cheddar cheese when my tooth went WACKO. (Damn tooth, it's bad enough it totally screwed my week-end but it also ruined my snack. Two loaves of homemade sourdough 100% whole grain bread 6 days later is not the same thing as straight from the oven.)
We like things as natural as possible. We tried natural. Natural almost always works, but it can't fight an evil tooth that can only be brought around to the side of non-evil by a nice little Tuesday morning root canal.
Muaaaah ahhh ahh, take that tooth.
I only wish I could astral project so I could pop out of body and have a go at poking the offending tooth along side the dentist just so I can get a few jabs in, even things up a bit.
My new best friend Dexamethasone has returned my sanity. Thank-you wonder drug. But between you and me I'm dropping that pretty little pill like a bad habit as soon as I'm on the happy side of my root canal. Shhhh, don't tell Dexamethasone that this is totally a one time thing, that I have no intentions of making any life changing decisions to go all meds crazy, pill popping chemical stewing any time soon.
See, I must be evil, see how I'll use my new temporary best friend that way with full intentions of dumping Dexamethasone's ass as soon as possible? Course maybe I wouldn't be such a cold hearted pill snubbing bee-otch if I was able to sleep.....see...that's the thing about sea salt, ice water or massage, there's hardly ever a side affect like not being able to sleep. And that's the only side affect I looked at, if I want to read a scary list of horrible possibilities I'll check out the news. But...............some times modern medicines has it's advantages. Sometimes when you exhaust all other possibilities modern medicine is a fricking miracle. My sweetie likes to think of doctors as mechanics for the body. A lot of things a person can treat themselves with patience, a good diet and some common sense but sometimes, you just need that third party to get in there with his drill and make some holes in your tooth.....hmmm though I have a dremel...and this nifty little diamond tipped drill bit.......
Ahh, no worries, I am pretty sure we shall leave the dentistry in the hands of the professionals, leave the pills alone when ever we can, leave my beautiful bread in the freezer until my mouth can chomp good again and leave Satan in his festering little hole in the earth where he belongs.....just as soon as I evict his ass from my tooth.

• Please Note: Giggling too much in happy excitement over getting a root canal makes the root canal people look at you funny. What ever you do don't tell your Doctor he's removing Satan from your tooth either...just saying...it won't go well. Also strangely enough I can say "she sells sea shells by the sea shore" like a million times more accurately with a face full of freeze juice, Novocaine? I dunno what they call it, I just had a root canal do I really have to call it anything besides freeze juice?

Biting the bullet about dust eaters biting the dust...just bites.

If you're anything like me you've spent many an hour agonizing over your dust buster. You haven't? Umm......well this is awkward.
Let me restart the beginning of my blab-fest with this then....I have this friend...um..yeah...and SHE (who is NOT me) has spent many an hour agonizing over her dust buster. Because that's the kind of person she is.
The kind of person who'd always thought a dust buster was a frivolous, extravagant purchase but none the less eyed them with something akin to lust in the department stores. Never daring to let her gaze linger too long, lest her husband suspect her desires. She had a vacuum cleaner did she not? She reasoned with herself, why would she need a second apparatus that sucked?
Was she enamored by the delicate pastel hued plastic body?
Was she tickled over the idea of a teeny weeny cleaning machine she could keep in her kitchen? Was she just sick?
Yes, yes and no. She was in love, and afraid to admit it...until......
I'm sure you know where this is headed.
An "until" so heavily laden with passion and intrigue can only lead to one thing.....an explosion of gasping, girlish delight in the middle of a Linens n' Things as she was brought to her knees by a display of dust busters for only 14.99.
Ignoring one's secret desire is easy...until....you're faced with your secret desire only costing 14.99. Also, stuttering and stammering and clutching the unit they had on display in a childish "mine, mine, mine" sort of attitude goes a long way towards shattering the illusions that you're a cool, sophisticated woman who doesn't swoon over dust busters. My....HER husband was surprised.
"You really want one?"
And he asked it in such a casual way that implied he wasn't shocked, or disgusted by her needs, just surprised that she was hyperventilating over the 14.99 price tag, and manically searching for crumbs on the store floor so she could play with the demo unit. Lifting her husband's feet and knocking dirt onto the floor so she could feed her little beast.... crooning "There's a good plastic baby, mama's gonna fix you up good."
They bought one.
She cried the first night. Not realizing the new addition to the household had to charge first for 24 hours. It sat there happily suckling electricity from the plug whilst she eyed the little piles of crumbs that seemed to have miraculously appeared on every surface, as if sensing the arrival of the chosen one. Crumbs she could not, in good conscience, clean in any other way but with her new dust buster.
Finally, the next day....the day that took for-fricking-ever to arrive, she and her dust buster were united in the full glory that is a woman and her little sucking device coming together in holy house cleaning union.
She buzzed about the living room and kitchen, sucking up crumbs. Where there weren't crumbs she MADE crumbs, so as to test the little sucker on every surface available. Her husband was delighted by her strange and baffling joy that a little tool could bring.
When it's battery wound down she didn't howl. She just bit her lip and held the dark cloud of despair at bay by screeching, "WHY DID IT STOP?"
"It's not meant for cleaning an entire house." Her husband rationally explains. "5 minutes is a pretty good run time for picking up crumbs, if you think about it. If you have more than 5 minutes worth of crumbs to clean up maybe you need to use the big vacuum right?"
He made a lot of sense. And eventually the cloud of despair would retreat far enough that she could see this logic and not just stand and stare at her little plastic baby slurping electricity from the plug, belly full of coffee grounds, bits of tortilla chips and scraps of paper she'd ripped and scattered across the carpet for testing purposes.
Life was rainbows, sunbeams and lollypops for a while. Until......
Damn them "untils"........everything life changing happens after an until, have you ever noticed?
Well...all was perfect...UNTIL......she noticed she couldn't suck all the crumbs under the edge of the counter PLUS the coffee grounds around the stove all in one go......how odd.....it was as if the little plastic baby was growing weaker......she couldn't admit it until one day her husband innocently said, "It sounds like that thing is dying."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Why would you say that? Why? WHY?????? You don't like my dust buster do you? You've never wanted me to have a dust buster, you'd let coffee grounds just pile up till we lived on nothing but coffee grounds, and wore nothing but coffee grounds, I suppose you think I ought to just quit spilling coffee grounds huh? HUH?????????????? "
He forgave her. As he understood the depth of love she had for the dust buster, having had such a relationship with a harmonica himself.
He suggested she time it. Cleverly realizing lets not have HIM destroy her dreams but lets have MATH do it. Numbers never lie, they may scar your soul with mind numbing cruelty, revealing truths that are too big for some minds to grasp....like the number of pints of ice cream left in the freezer, the number of poisonous snakes in the world or that your dust buster that used to run for 5 minutes at a time and now runs for only 40 seconds....but they never lie. Math will break your heart time and time again but it never lies.
40 seconds.
And every day she unites in cleaning joy with her plastic companion the time is less......Death hovers over the plastic dust buster with every hairball it consumes.
So fine, what ever, death is the inevitable conclusion to life, well that's just FRICKING PEACHY.
Is there a funeral service for the dust buster?
A final resting place?
Is there reincarnation for the dust buster?
Are batteries, life giving batteries, easily and readily available for the poor wee duster buster whose clock is running out?
*sigh*
The funeral services for most people's dust busters involve a complicated and scary process of smothering the plastic tool in yet more plastic, having it carted off by strangers in a loud rumbly truck and buried amongst everything our society considers too disgusting to keep. No loving embrace of sweet mother earth should ever be given to the dust buster, I feel very certain it goes against it's religious beliefs.
It's like a mummy, but instead of put in a museum on display where we put all the other old timey mummys that refuse to deteriorate, it's discarded. Hidden deep in our garages....IF it's lucky....and if it's not, it's sent along to the garbage heap. And a shiny NEW dust buster comes in to take it's place but like a pet...you know...you just KNOW you're going to outlive it......that some day, a hell of a lot sooner than you'd like, you will be faced with the same situation all over again....
Poor little dust buster, and poor she who longs to keep using her little cleaning aid and yet knows the time is drawing near. A decision will have to be made.
Which is more important to her? Hearing the gentle purr of a NEW Mr. Sucker-upper as he happily gobbles up the day's mess under the edge of the counter....or the environment? Will she start a collection of dead dust busters to join the blenders in the garage? Or will she realize that by keeping her kitchen counters garbage free by mechanical means she might actually be contributing to a larger garbage problem on the earth.....
Crap.
Seriously, why do I.........of course, just a slip of the fingers, why does SHE even have to think of these things?
Why care about the future generations? Why give a rat's ass about her legacy to the earth?
Why think about what she'll have to do with the old, dead dust buster when it finally bites the dust? Why can't she just throw it out and never think about it?
WHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHY?
Is this cause her Mother was talking about goats whilst in labour with her? It all goes back to that doesn't it? She's a fricking hippy wanna-be because her Mother had to be running her mouth off about goats whilst giving birth. Something like that's gotta scar a child ya know?
So......she thinks about her dust buster, but enjoys the time they have together in the here and now.
Maybe by some miracle of miracles it won't die. Maybe it will forever run for 40 seconds at a time, just enough time to whizz through the kitchen chasing dust bunnies.
I hear too that she wonders how people cleaned up crumbs before dust busters? There's this thing called a whisk broom, like a regular broom only tiny........tiny is cute......though she doesn't dare speak of such things as whisk brooms around her Mr. Sucker-upper, lest he hear and ask uncomfortable questions she can't answer. Like what happens if some day....there's not even 40 seconds?
What if there's not even 2?
Will Mr.Sucker-upper be given a place of honor as art amongst all the prized possessions that are jammed in every corner, crowding every surface of the house? How valuable is he to the household when he can't work any more?
She might steal side long glances at him as he sleeps, recharging for the next hopefully 40 second cleaning spree and acknowledge.....he's beautiful as a dust buster....but as art? Hmmmmmm.....
Hope stirs, I know this for a fact. She has hope. One can't spend endless hours worrying, and agonizing over their dust buster and not have some hope.....a new battery? A new life? A new purpose?
She can't predict what the future holds but I damn well know this....he won't be garbage. He will NEVER be garbage.
He might become the world's funkiest flower vase, or secret compartment to hide valuables, weirdly shaped doll, strange little planter or the world's clunkiest cat toy that never gets played with....but he'll never be garbage.

Hmmmmmmmm...do you see what I see...would that make him..Dirty Smurf?

Cravings assuaged poetically

Oh where art
My butter tart
In these United States?
The sticky treat
I long to eat,
and my desire sate.
Look everywhere
the shelves are bare
people's brows are raisin'
Yes that's right
Raisin delight,
Is the tart I'm praisin'.
I've been known
to make my own
When a craving surges!
A bit of crust,
sugar's a must,
A butter tart emerges.

(Heaven is located just under this raisin)

An Understanding Marriage.

(me and my sweetie)

My husband wants to buy sea water...and yet we have no fish....no pool...no hot tub...but apparently we are lacking in sea water.
And not just ANY sea water, of course not, that would be silly. God forbid we get regular old, shore water...bleck. No, what he is currently lusting after is DEEP sea water. Pumped up from the fathomless depths of the ocean and available for people to buy at 55 dollars a liter.
And this is why we work so well together.
Because I understand, because I sat here in the morning....well actually it was afternoon as we have flipped our schedules about again..(for the umpteenth millionth time because who can live by a clock?)
I sat there, blearily blinking sleep from my eyes as he excitedly explains WHY we might want to go ahead and get our selves some deep sea water.....and the way he explains it, makes perfect sense.
I understand.
In fact, the way he explains it I almost feel silly for not having thought to buy 55 dollar a liter sea water, pumped up from the fathomless depths of the ocean, myself...as it now seems so obvious. Even half asleep, dream images still crowding my brain...I understand. And I understand him.
Luckily he understands me as well.
He understands how Halloween is literally around the corner by my calculations. How it's actually less than 2 months away....when you think about it. Like I think about it. As I excitedly explain that June doesn't count because of course we're IN June, and Halloween is IN October, so those 2 months are pretty much shot, and since we're about to hit July, you might as well say it IS July which leaves us with only 2 months until Halloween.
And while he might listen attentively to my spiel with a smile on his face, that tugs up the corners of his lips in that, "about to chuckle all over the place, cause Halloween aint no sea water kind of look", he understands.
He likes to have crunchy things with his meal. The man would and does eat corn chips next to anything and everything. If he pops up from a meal of mashed potatoes and gravy to "get a little crunch" I understand. Just as he understands I don't want to lick the sour cream spoon.
I don't care that I just inhaled a giant dollop of sour cream with my beans because when it comes to the last scoop, I don't want to lick the spoon. When I have finished my beans, my sour cream to bean ratio would be completely ruined by licking the teensy weensy last speck of sour cream from the spoon, so he takes care of that for me. Saving me the untold agonies of wasting a teeny weeny itsy bitsy bit of sour cream that I'd be tortured to wash down the sink and would probably end up putting the spoon in the fridge with the 17 other sour cream spoons we would have if it were not for my hero, my sour cream spoon hero. Who, selflessly, and heroically steps up to the plate every time, totally obliterating his own sour cream to bean ratio by licking the last bit of sour cream from the spoon. *swoon* He understands.
Just like I understand that life would be better with a pulley. We don't need a pulley, but undoubtedly life would be fricking sweet if we only had a pulley system rigged up, some way....for something. Not a day goes by that my sweetie doesn't dream loudly about how some rope, a pulley and some imagined *system* could have us hauling what ever we wanted up over the patio railing rather than archaically walking it up the stairs. One short flight of stairs...not when a pulley would be so much more satisfying. And I understand, it's not the destination in life...it's the journey they say. And he gets that, his journey will be by way of a complex system of weights, counter weights and silky white rope from the hardware store, NOT just the mundane plodding of feet up the stairs.
And I understand.
Just like he understands my desire for triangle shaped food. Because nothing tastes quite as good in any other shape than triangle. Instead of one medium sized triangle of watermelon he will cut me 6 little triangles. So that I might experience full triangle glory, over and over again with each little piece. I don't even have to ask. He just does it, and seems to relish my enjoyment of snapping off each pink little triangle tip with my teeth almost as much as I enjoy doing it.
Because he understands just how dang good a triangle piece of watermelon tastes compared to those disgusting half moons people some times cut.
We understand each other so well there are days we complete each other's sentences.
Not always correctly, but it's the attempt that counts.
"Honey do you want-"
"A canoe? For what? No wait, do..I want...um..a raccoon? Wait, I know, a yard stick!!!"
"Umm.....no...a coffee? The raccoon sounds cool though."
Life's pretty dang good when you don't just have a marriage, but an understanding.