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ABOUT ME

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.

Friday, July 25, 2008

The other woman was a bonbon

I had no idea Charles was such a voracious reader of my blog fodder (say that 10 times fast). The little worm actually had the nerve to call me at work today to discuss yesterday’s blog post.

And suggest corrections!

According to Charles, my list of his top five most thoughtful deeds didn’t include enough of his recent niceness. I forgot to mention how he let me sleep until 9 a.m. last weekend. How he calls me every day at work to say hi (correction, to make notations on my postings). And how he spontaneously brings me chocolate.

Yes, last week he did bring me a bonbon but I didn’t count that because the gesture wasn’t entirely altruistic.

Let me explain. Charles does a lot of schmoozing for his job as a Business Developer. Said schmoozing is done mostly after five. At hotels. Business cards are exchanged. (Do you see where this is going?) You can’t blame me, then, for asking why my husband came home one night with glitter in his beard.

And not just a few specks—he was lit up like the Milky Way.

When he said he had eaten a glitter-covered bonbon while business developing I nearly fell on the floor laughing.

“You expect me to believe you ate food covered in glitter? That’s a health code violation. Why don’t you tell me what really happened.”

“What do you think happened?”

I put down my wine and leaned against the counter (you should always put down your wine before accusing your husband of shenanigans —looking like a lush does nothing for your cause).

“I think that you went to a hotel for a business function”—air quotes—“and that there was a bachelor party in the next ballroom and that you had too much to drink and wandered over to check out the entertainment and found yourself on the receiving end of a lap dance from an exotic dancer whose inner thighs were coated in glitter. Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“What was her name, Charles? Stardust? Jem?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re busted.”

Of course I apologized when he brought home the glitter-covered bonbon a week later. But you see, don’t you, how that bonbon doesn’t really count as a gift? A gift cannot be introduced as Exhibit A. Or B or C.

Especially not D. D stands for Dancer. And that’s what got him into trouble in the first place.

P.S. In Googling "exotic dancer names" (I was kind of bored with Stardust and Jem, but they did grow on me), I found this darling piece of info. Honk my hooters that's handy!

5 comments:

Marinka said...

Mmmmm...bonbon....

Wendy said...

This is all your hubby has to worry about? Mine is trying to have an aneurism because I'm talking about POOP on my blog. He asked me to reconsider my topic of discussion in case anyone we know finds my blog. His request included beggin, pleading, and intimidation.

I'm still posting about POOP.

Frogs in my formula said...

If you want to post about poop, post about poop with reckless abandon!

Practically Joe said...

I think the bon bon was appropriate ... he killed two birds with one stone. That's some practical wisdom he exhibited right there!

Mary Anna said...

was this pre-me, or did I totally miss this one?