Husband asked tonight if he could read my blog. "Of course, but you have to promise not to get mad." Why would he get mad? Well, there's this.
Yeah, I was cranky the other day. Big deal. But really, do I need him getting mad about something that I wrote on the spur of the moment that most likely kept him from getting hit with the skillet he gave me for Christmas?
Men are funny. Extremely lovable and vexing, but funny.
I got yelled at this morning for starting to dig my own car out of the snow. Sorry, you were indisposed and I needed to leave for work.
I got flowers this afternoon. Really pretty flowers. Not even roses (which he knows make me sad). Non-Valentine-ish, really colorful tulips.
I got stainless steel measuring cups and spoons tonight (for my birthday, which is tomorrow - he can't keep a gift until the day; he's always giving it up early). I love them honey. They're heavy and shiny and chained together so I'll always know where all of them are.
He's a good man. Silly and vexing, but good. I'm a lucky woman.
Happy Valentine's Day.
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There are two issues: if he can read and if he can censor. Gary and I worked it out that:
some topics are off limits (Vicki Vicki Vicki and the posse), some are allowed only with his approval (his family), and some ("disrobe and mount up woman" as foreplay) are just common sense.
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