We’ve heard this before. He promises a great surprise and then when the gift arrives… well, you can come to your own conclusions about this one.
Exactly one year ago from today, I won two tickets to a mixed martial arts championship by giving the correct answer to a radio DJ’s trivia question about the show “I Love Lucy”. I told my husband, Mark, the news as soon as I got home from work. This was the day I found out that I had apparently married a martial arts guru. Mark began to excitingly rattle off information on the top fighters, and how he could take any of them in a one on one brawl.
While Mark was getting his testosterone fill during the fight, we had some downtime between matchups. Mark eyed a video game in the Coliseum’s arcade and decided to showcase his reflexes by playing a game of Dance Dance Revolution. Now mind you, my husband, has the reflexes of a senile bingo player. Watching my husband play a pre-pubescent teenager in a video game was priceless.
Fourteen rematches and five overpriced bottles of water later, Mark realized that maybe he wasn’t the young athlete he once used to be. On the ride home, I consoled him by reminding him that he outgrew video games a long time ago and there was no way he could out DDR a practiced 12 year old. I really got a chuckle out of Mark defending his outdated skills in video games and smack talking a 12 year old behind his back. Oh, and the mixed martial arts was fun too.
For our third wedding anniversary, my husband surprised me. He arranged our dinner out that night and the babysitter for our kids. I didn’t have to do anything but be ready at the appointed time. He picked a good restaurant and we had a lovely time. He told me my gift would be waiting at home and that I’d love it. As you can imagine, the excitement was almost too much to bear. We get home, I walk into our closet and sitting on the floor is my gift. A tie rack. Yep, a tie rack. He thought it’d be the perfect gift since I’m always complaining about his ties being everywhere. Now I can have the neat and organized closet I want. Sigh… yay.
When my 30th birthday was coming up, I was getting excited but tried not to show it.
I figured with it being a bit of a milestone, my husband would be doing something extra special to make my day bright. He told me to make sure I could leave work early and meet him for dinner at our favourite restaurant. I had all kinds of thoughts running through my head. We’d talked about going on an overseas trip so I thought maybe he’d be surprising me with this fantasy trip we’d talked about for so long. Well, we got to the restaurant and had a delicious meal. There was no mention of any trip or birthday present or anything during our conversation.
I started to think that maybe he hadn’t gotten me anything at all. But he assured me that he did have something special waiting for me in the car. We soon left the restaurant and were driving when he suddenly said he had to run an errand. He stopped the car at a hardware store and I just assumed he needed something for his job. But, no. That wasn’t it at all. When he got back in the car, he looked at me and said, “Happy Birthday. Enjoy.”
Then he tossed the bag over to me and I looked inside. There sitting in a paper bag was a shower head to replace the one that had broken in our bathroom! And to top it off, he looked so proud of himself. So now when my birthday rolls around, I keep my expectations low.
For our anniversary, my husband and I decided to go out for a romantic dinner. When it came time to leave, my husband starting searching frantically for his keys.
“Where’d you leave them?” I asked, genuinely concerned. He usually leaves them on a ring in the kitchen but they were clearly not there. We looked everywhere in the house and my husband kept re-tracking his steps but to no avail.
We were now already an hour late for dinner so we just called and cancelled. We ended up ordering chinese food. My husband went upstairs to change out of his nice clothes and when he came down he had his keys in his hand. Before I could say anything, he looked at me sheepishly and said the keys were in his pocket the whole time. Thankfully we laughed.
As I walked into the front door of our house after getting home from work, Chris walked up to me and gave me a big hug. He gets home before I do usually.
“Hey Kara, how was your day,” he asked. “Busy,” I replied. “I’m glad I’m finally home so we can get everything taken care of for our barbecue tomorrow and have some time to relax.”
“Yeah, we can watch a chick flick or something. Well, you can watch one and I’ll sit with you and pretend that I’m watching while I’m really probably just going to fall asleep.” I laughed at him and playfully pushed him away.
“Did you remember to get my soap at the store,” Chris asked.
I looked at him with a look of shame and said, “Oh my goodness, I forgot all about going to the store! I am so sorry. I’ll go back and get it.” Chris smirked and said, “I thought you might forget. It’s okay. I’ll just use yours tonight and smell a little fruity tomorrow for the barbecue. It’s better than smelling bad!” We agreed to this and began the process of marinating our steaks for the next day.
When we woke up the next morning, Chris rolled over and sleepily said, “Your soap made my skin tingle when I used it, and now it feels weird.” I said, “It’s supposed to tingle. It’s exfoliating” as I chalked Chris’ statement up to the fact that he had never used girly soap before and thought nothing of it.
My husband had spent the day at a conference. He was tired, but it was “date night,” and he agreed to meet me at a new restaurant on Las Olas Boulevard.
When we sat down, the waitress came over to take our drink order. He was wearing one of those giant nametags—the ones that say, “Hello, My Name is________”
The waitress took my drink order, winked at me, and turned to my husband and said, “Mike, what can I get you?”
He was a bit taken aback. “Uh. I’ll have a gin and tonic, please.”
As the waitress walked away, I leaned in and said, “Mike, how do you KNOW her?”
“I don’t!” he exclaimed. “Uh…I…uh…I don’t know how she knew my name.”
“Really? You have never met her?” I could hardly contain my amusement.
The waitress appeared a few seconds later with our drinks. She was flirting with him at this point, clearly making Mike even more uncomfortable.
After she set his drink down, we both looked at him and simultaneously pointed to his nametag. I think Mike’s reaction was a combination of slight annoyance and utter relief.
We have two cars. On the lower left-hand corner of each windshield, they have registration stickers and inspection stickers–right next to the local police supporter stickers. This is the standard sticker situation for everyone in NY.
I readily admit that I am not a car person. I don’t call the cars by their rightful branded names–I refer to them as the blue car and the black car. Car maintenance is Fred’s “job”. He washes the cars (periodically), takes the cars in for an oil change (when the reminder light becomes difficult to ignore), and sometimes even monitors the stickers’ expiration dates.
It was early February. The new registration sticker for the blue car had arrived in the mail. It sat on the “outgoing” counter, unnoticed, along with grocery coupons and other stuff for the car. It was the third Saturday in February, before I gently nudged Fred, “Can you please put the new registration on the car?
“Sure,” he said, “after the football game.”
We have three boys, and as you might imagine, the television is tuned to sports 24-7. My husband enjoys sports, but he is not really a sports nut. As the boys have grown, they have gotten even more interested in the rules of the game, and they follow the statistics of each and every player.
My husband has been able to “fake” his knowledge for the most part. However, last Sunday, during the football game, there were several calls by the ref that were questionable. The three boys started arguing to prove their respective points. I know my husband wanted to step in as the expert, but he was stumped!
It was then that I noticed him excusing himself to the bathroom with “The Female Fan Guide to Pro Football” tucked under his arm.
Lame? Maybe. But, adorable…nonetheless.