...MY HUSBAND SCOTT IS AN ASSHOLE.
(
The photo is of our son Matthew with Scott, at the hospital back in March, looking at photos Matthew took of our grandson, Michael's birth.)
He thought I wouldn't write that. In fact he DARED me to write it. Actually, he DICTATED it to me. He said, write, "My husband is an asshole." I don't know why, but it could be because he feels slighted because I write about Barack Obama, but not him. So, I will write a little bit about him. (He's really not an asshole...except he STILL smokes coffin-nails, and snores, talks in his sleep, and grinds his teeth.)
He can make a burrito out of ANYTHING edible, and they always taste good. My favorite is his leftover-Thanksgiving-dinner burrito. Everything we ate for dinner on Thanksgiving except the pies, goes into it. And I CAN'T WAIT!!! Only a couple more weeks, and my tastebuds will be tickled again.
He has something he calls "waistband cancer." In the summer when he perspires, his skin gets irritated around his waist from wearing a belt, I guess. He insists that men must wear belts. So, he gets a few little red bumps, and freaks out, insisting he is going to die of "waistband cancer." This has been going on for 25 years, and he's still around. The cancer is gone now that the weather has cooled, but come May or June, we'll go through the whole ordeal again.
Oh yes, he also complains that he occasionally has "fuzz-balls" in his brain. I'm not kidding about this. Excuse me, I've been corrected: "cotton balls"...his head feels "cloudy" and full of cotton. This happens when he is trying to multi-task...you know, doing more than one simple task at a time. He says that when women do tasks they use both sides of their brain, but when men do tasks, they only use one side. He says he's not a "brainologist" but this is his explanation and he cannot be dissuaded. "Fine," he says, "post it just like that."
You might think I'm being mean to him, but I am running each sentence by him for accuracy, corrections and commentary as I type it.
Let me see, what else can I say about him?
Oh, he drank some cherry flavored rum this past spring. Too much of it. I think I was shopping, and he decided to paint our bedroom while I was gone. Apparently he dragged the ladder, a can of paint, and one of those "roller pans" into the room, along with a bottle of rum and a glass. He called me about every thirty minutes to see what I was doing, and his conversation became a little more unusual each time. By the fourth call, he was saying, "I'm an asshole." By the sixth, he was not only calling himself an asshole, but also telling me he was so ashamed of himself. I thought maybe he had gotten paint on my new curtains or on the bedspread or carpet. By the time I got home, he was laying on his back sideways across the bed, whimpering, "I'm SUCH an asshole" because he'd had a glass of rum, and he was too dizzy to paint. The half-empty bottle revealed that he had had a very, very tall glass of rum, while the lid still on the paint can revealed it had never been opened. I felt kind of sorry for him. We seldom drink--an occasional glass of wine a few times a year, we split one six-pack of beer throughout lawn-mowing season. And may have a Margarita when we go out for Mexican food. So I guess he doesn't know his limits...you know I DO know mine! I will never drink more than one glass of anything because of my barfaphobia.
When I met him, he thought pickles grew on trees...he's from New Jersey. Oh, he took offense to THIS comment. But it's true!!
He loves Hellmann's mayonnaise and won't eat any other brand. He insists he can tell the difference between Jif peanut butter and all others (but he can't...I tested him back in 1983 by scooping generic p.b. into an empty Jif jar...he never noticed a difference). But he CAN tell the difference between Hellmann's and all other brands. He uses mayo on everything. He makes sandwiches out of anything, and slathers it with mayo. He puts as much mayonnaise on a sandwich as I put chocolate frosting on chocolate cake. Last night he made a spaghetti sandwich, with mayonnaise of course. Tonight I fixed meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. His ended up between two slices of bread with Hellmann's.
Enough for now, his head is getting a little big, since he sees this long article written about him. Oh, now he's threatening to write his own blog...not too likely. He'll get on the computer and be distracted by SLINGO, or Texas Hold 'Em.
The photo is of our son Matthew with Scott, at the hospital back in March, looking at photos Matthew took of our grandson, Michael's birth.)He thought I wouldn't write that. In fact he DARED me to write it. Actually, he DICTATED it to me. He said, write, "My husband is an asshole." I don't know why, but it could be because he feels slighted because I write about Barack Obama, but not him. So, I will write a little bit about him. (He's really not an asshole...except he STILL smokes coffin-nails, and snores, talks in his sleep, and grinds his teeth.)
He can make a burrito out of ANYTHING edible, and they always taste good. My favorite is his leftover-Thanksgiving-dinner burrito. Everything we ate for dinner on Thanksgiving except the pies, goes into it. And I CAN'T WAIT!!! Only a couple more weeks, and my tastebuds will be tickled again.
He has something he calls "waistband cancer." In the summer when he perspires, his skin gets irritated around his waist from wearing a belt, I guess. He insists that men must wear belts. So, he gets a few little red bumps, and freaks out, insisting he is going to die of "waistband cancer." This has been going on for 25 years, and he's still around. The cancer is gone now that the weather has cooled, but come May or June, we'll go through the whole ordeal again.
Oh yes, he also complains that he occasionally has "fuzz-balls" in his brain. I'm not kidding about this. Excuse me, I've been corrected: "cotton balls"...his head feels "cloudy" and full of cotton. This happens when he is trying to multi-task...you know, doing more than one simple task at a time. He says that when women do tasks they use both sides of their brain, but when men do tasks, they only use one side. He says he's not a "brainologist" but this is his explanation and he cannot be dissuaded. "Fine," he says, "post it just like that."
You might think I'm being mean to him, but I am running each sentence by him for accuracy, corrections and commentary as I type it.
Let me see, what else can I say about him?
Oh, he drank some cherry flavored rum this past spring. Too much of it. I think I was shopping, and he decided to paint our bedroom while I was gone. Apparently he dragged the ladder, a can of paint, and one of those "roller pans" into the room, along with a bottle of rum and a glass. He called me about every thirty minutes to see what I was doing, and his conversation became a little more unusual each time. By the fourth call, he was saying, "I'm an asshole." By the sixth, he was not only calling himself an asshole, but also telling me he was so ashamed of himself. I thought maybe he had gotten paint on my new curtains or on the bedspread or carpet. By the time I got home, he was laying on his back sideways across the bed, whimpering, "I'm SUCH an asshole" because he'd had a glass of rum, and he was too dizzy to paint. The half-empty bottle revealed that he had had a very, very tall glass of rum, while the lid still on the paint can revealed it had never been opened. I felt kind of sorry for him. We seldom drink--an occasional glass of wine a few times a year, we split one six-pack of beer throughout lawn-mowing season. And may have a Margarita when we go out for Mexican food. So I guess he doesn't know his limits...you know I DO know mine! I will never drink more than one glass of anything because of my barfaphobia.
When I met him, he thought pickles grew on trees...he's from New Jersey. Oh, he took offense to THIS comment. But it's true!!
He loves Hellmann's mayonnaise and won't eat any other brand. He insists he can tell the difference between Jif peanut butter and all others (but he can't...I tested him back in 1983 by scooping generic p.b. into an empty Jif jar...he never noticed a difference). But he CAN tell the difference between Hellmann's and all other brands. He uses mayo on everything. He makes sandwiches out of anything, and slathers it with mayo. He puts as much mayonnaise on a sandwich as I put chocolate frosting on chocolate cake. Last night he made a spaghetti sandwich, with mayonnaise of course. Tonight I fixed meatloaf, mashed potatoes and green beans. His ended up between two slices of bread with Hellmann's.
Enough for now, his head is getting a little big, since he sees this long article written about him. Oh, now he's threatening to write his own blog...not too likely. He'll get on the computer and be distracted by SLINGO, or Texas Hold 'Em.
posted by Cinnabitch | 6:11 PM
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