Ladies, Mind Your Husbands

After almost seven years of marriage (and NO ITCH….haha, that was a throwaway joke…), it’s always good to take a look at your spouse through an outsider’s eyes.  Don’t get me wrong.  My husband rocks it like any IT-professional-in-his-thirties and I’m crazy about him.  I’m in it to win it with this one, but it’s a good reminder that he’s being checked out at every turn and pursued by ELIGIBLE prospect(S).  Even if those prospects aren’t so likely.  Such as the off-shore contractor who passes him in the hallway almost daily and calls my husband by first-name, even though my husband has no idea who this guy is.  They do not work together, they are not on the same work team, they do not attend the same meetings.  They merely work in the same building.

Since we work as contractors at the same company, my husband and I take advantage of the inter-office IM to catch up during the day.  Like today:

Him: Remember my stalker here at work?
Me:  ummm…
: refresh my memory
Him: there is a guy here at work who I always seem to run into in the hall.
Me: oh, yes
Him: well…
: today he came up to me and said “I noticed on Friday you were wearing a short sleeve shirt.  I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you wear one”
:…
Me: I’m speechless
:but, um
:he’s hitting on you
Him:  that’s what I think
Me: how did you respond?
Him: i just said, oh yea I was wearing a polo
:and then quickly moved on
Me: do you know the guy’s name?
Him: i don’t
Me: do you work with him in any professional capacity?
Him: no
Me: does he seem nervous when he talks to you, like he is trying to think of things to say?
Him: yep!
Me: is he laying awake at night, brainstorming things to say to see if you will think they are cool?
:are you sure he doesn’t just want a job at your company?
Him: i’m sure it’s not work
:he just wants me
Me: lol
Him: offshore resources love me
:tall… pasty… awkward
Me: is he here on a working visa?
Him: probably
Me: maybe he wants to take you to NY and get married.
Him: haha
Me: you know, like a modern day Greencard movie
:too bad I got to you first

It’s a jungle out there and I’m not taking any chances.  I’m going to figure out how to fatten my husband up and limit his personal grooming.  And he’s definitely not wearing Polos to work anymore.

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Welcome to Chez Stinky

My dog stinks.  I’ve known this for awhile, but recent events involving our basement carpet and several bottles of Resolve for Pets has made me more aware of just how dirty he really is. I believe I’ve crossed the threshold between “needing to keep Resolve in the house” to “needing to invest in a carpet steamer and a haz-mat suit.”  I came to this conclusion last Thursday as I vacuumed the cream-colored rug in the basement in preparation for weekend company.  In my defense, we bought it before Remi was even a gleam in our eye.  Indefensibly, we’ve always planned to have kids and I drink red wine.  Honestly, our house should be lined with materials that can be hosed down neatly.  One year in with Man’s Best Friend, several unfortunate incidents that I shall not tell you about, and our carpet is no longer cream or anything that could be remotely associated with the color cream.  It’s more like dog-dirt-brown. And it’s not just that the color’s changed.

The confirming statement as to the state of basement-dog-stink came this weekend from my 11-year-old sister, who upon entering the basement, sniffed, and said, matter-of-factly,  “It smells like a pet store down here.”  I wish that was the worst of it.  Moments later, my dad ambled down the stairwell in a slow, deliberate, just-woke-up-from-a-nap gait, and Remi, not recognizing him, started barking ferociously at our “intruder” and promptly dumped his anal glands on floor in a show of defense.  This was where my step-mother found me, minutes later, scrubbing the tile floor (inches from the carpet, thank goodness for small favors) with disinfecting cleaner.  “What happened?” she asked, looking around for a decomposing corpse.  “Oh, nothing,” I said cheerfully, “Just dad walking down the steps and Remi dumping his anal glands.”  She nodded slowly, trying to be polite,”Ahhh….” as if that was the logical explanation she expected.

That’s the kind of hospitality we deliver up in here.  Come for the dirt, stay for the smell of death.

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