At 11:43 a.m. this morning, I got an email from Charles with the subject line, “I am not a jerk.”
No message. Nuttin’.
So I did what any concerned wife would do: I emailed him back and wrote, “I know.”
Then my phone rang.
“Everyone is going to think I am a jerk,” he said.
“What are you talking about?”
He proceeded to launch into a tirade using the high-pitched voice he reserves for mimicking his mother and me. “Oh, Charles watches Law and Order, blah blah, and he doesn’t play with his kid and he doesn’t do anything around the house, blah blah, men suck.”
Uh oh. I was so proud of the sign I made that I sent Charles an email a few weeks ago and told him he had to check it out. (Dinner chat has been pretty quiet on the “let’s talk about blogging” front so I assumed he took a peek and moved on.)
Alas, he lingered.
“Honey, you’re a great husband and father. No one thinks you’re a jerk.”
“You rock my world?”
“I don’t appreciate being misrepresented. Or mocked.”
Double oops. Even though my anecdotes are 99.998% natural, I may have occasionally erred on the side of dipshitedness.
In an attempt to rectify the situation, I’m offering this: the five most fabulously sweet things Charles has done for me in the 11 years we’ve been bound together in bliss (shit, I really should shake this sarcasm thing before he dumps my sorry ass).
1. On our first date he sprayed my fried-to-a-crisp self down with Solarcaine in the women’s bathroom without trying to take advantage of me in my precarious state (although he did admit years later that yes, he snuck a peek at my boobies).
2. One year into our relationship, he moved to another state to be with me even though I had told him a month before that I wanted to try being on my own.
3. The next year, he moved back to Connecticut to be with me after I freaked out and left the other state.
4. He held my hand during my C-section after seeing me through 24 hours of labor, two epidurals, painkillers, vomiting, hyperventilating, and elephantitis of the body (I'm not kidding, I couldn't even fit into my maternity clothes I was retaining so much water).
5. On Junior's first birthday, Charles bought him a frog kiddie pool and stuffed frog in honor of Frogs in my Formula.
Charles, this Stella’s for you, baby (Bud sucks).
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.