Wedded Bliss

I'm still wavering in the blogging business.  I started with this blog was "discovered" by Vibrant Nation, but then found it difficult to write for both.  I was copying some of my blogs from this post to Vibrant Nation and vice-versa, but if people are reading both I feel there should be different blogs on each site.

Dave Barry and Erma Bombeck have always been my guiding light as I want to be humorous, but I don't always feel funny every day.  Also, I've been trying to write my blogs more like syndicated columns, which isn't really the idea of a blog.  So for now I'm going to write this blog as more random thoughts and keep the column-style type of posts on Vibrant Nation.

So what can I chat about today?  This past weekend was my twenty-seventh wedding anniversary.  My husband and I went out for dinner on Friday and then Saturday went to a craft fair and later that evening to a movie.  We get a popcorn to share.  Now here's my first dilemma.  He eats very fast.  I want to save the popcorn to enjoy during the course of the movie, but he could polish off that bag before the previews are finished and I want to be sure to get my fair share.  Isn't that sad?  Twenty seven years of marriage and I'm still worried about my fair share.  He has always made sure I have everything I need.  In fact, he generally stops eating after a while and gives me the bag to finish.  So why do I still have this keeping even mentality?

Secondly, as he's holding the popcorn with his left hand, his right hand is on my knee.  Isn't that sweet?  Not.  All I can concentrate on is the fact that he's also eating with his right hand.  And he put extra butter on the popcorn and then he put his hand back on my knee.  I'm going to have to wash that butter out of my pants.  I've been worried about the romance going out of our marriage, but I think I'm the one with issues.

What to talk about is another issue.  Does anyone else have trouble talking with their spouse?  He doesn't want to talk about religion, or politics, or the news.  We don't want to discuss our jobs.  We don't have kids.  Luckily we have a dog that we sort of talk through.  I think she's like a ventriloquist's dummy where we can channel our thoughts out loud through her.  We've discussed everything about each other over the course of thirty years of knowing each other, so what's left?

I do the like the comfort level of not having to be my best 24/7, but I think I need to at least go by some new jammies.  Especially with winter coming up.  I generally have a sweat shirt from one outfit with the bottom half of a pair of flannel pajamas and generally a sexy type of thick pair of socks which ties the whole ensemble together.  With all of these reality shows, perhaps they need a new show that has a makeover for housewives and husbands.  They pull these two poor schmucks out of the crowd as they walk along.  The wife is wearing clothes as least ten seasons old, the husband is picking some sort of food from his teeth and then they whisk both away separately to give them a makeover and a romantic evening out.  Wouldn't that be wonderful to see what we could possibly look like if we gave it half a try?

Well, that's it for tonight in the wonderful world of wedded bliss.

Shopping Nightmare

Have you ever wondered who lays out the various departments in a store?  Maybe I never noticed when shopping for Junior sizes, but now that I'm getting close to shopping in the Women's department, I realize that it's always next to Petites.  It's hard enough shopping for bigger sizes, but I don't need to see little Miss Size Two shopping across the aisle from me.

If Petites is not across from Women's, then it's generally located near Maternity.  Seriously; take a look! You haven't seen your toes in eight months and you have to waddle past undersized ladies shopping for pants that you couldn't shove one thigh into.  As if you're not struggling enough with your image already.

And who puts the bras and panties on the main aisle?  I could count the number of times I've run into anyone I know on one hand in the thirty years I've lived in my area, but I swear the one time I'm shopping for underwear, poof, I run into someone I haven't seen in ten years.  If you're shopping for granny panties like you normally do because they're more comfortable and don't ride up, you're mortified.  But even more mortifying is the one time you want to try to be sexy and are looking for something a little risque.  If you say it's for yourself, they'll laugh.  If you say it's a gift for your niece you look like a strange aunt.

Speaking of underwear, I went into Victoria's Secret to shop for something sexy.  Now first off, you don't want to try on panties unless they're over the ones you're wearing.  Nothing spells sexy like a thong over granny panties.  I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.  I have yet to officially try on a thong, 'cause like I said it's over the underwear you're wearing and I don't want to invest $25 for a 50 cent piece of material only to discover that the little piece in the back that goes up you know where gets hooked on a hemorrhoid or something.

They came out with these cute little lacy underwear, not sure what they're called, but they're bikini cut and come down a little over your thighs.  I looked like sausage in casing.  That lace was stretching as far as it could trying to work its way around my upper legs.  I remember my grandmother always grabbing my thighs when I was a teenager when we wore our jeans that we had cut off sky high.  When she grabbed that part of my anatomy she would say, "your moons are showing!"  Yeah, that gave a gawky teenager confidence.

I have never been much of a shopper and am finding it more and more difficult to do so now.  I know we need to get comfortable with our new physiques, but between trying to find a good fitting bra located next to the luggage that men are shopping for makes it embarrassing.  I have yet to find a dress that makes me feel pretty or shoes that are attractive without making my calves cramp up.

There is one store I have discovered that I will admit is styled for women past forty and is very attractive, but the prices are so over the top I can't justify shopping there unless it's for my birthday or Christmas.  Sigh.  I know it's time to put down the fork and pick up the barbells, but until then can someone PLEASE put my department of clothing in the back corner of the store?

How much prep does one need for the OB/GYN?

Ah, - the gynecologist.  This can be traumatic for some and non-eventful for others.  As a newly married woman going for this visit, I remember this old doctor who talked really loudly.  I guess he had to shout in order to be heard because his head was muffled under my dressing gown, but he's going on about "Do you want babies?  Tonight's the night if you do."  Walls were not thick enough to muffle my mortification.  And how could he tell?  Were my eggs strutting their stuff singing Donna Summer's "Bad Girls?" 

A lot of thought goes into preparing for this date.  If I spend too much time getting ready, it looks like I'm seeing someone on the side.  Wearing perfume is definitely out.  But I want to look like I take care of myself so as I'm in the shower I shave the arm pits because I don't want to look French while he's performing a breast exam.  Then I look down and realize I had better shave the legs while I'm at it.  When did the big knuckle of my toes get hairy?  I don't recall that in high school.  My toe nails are gross.  I think to myself, "I can keep my socks on during the visit," but realize how foolish it looks to peel all layers of modesty off only to leave my socks on.  I probably should have scheduled a pedicure before this visit, but it's too late now so I opt for a hack saw and buffer.  Good grief, if I spent half the time getting ready to see my husband each day as I do to see the doc, our love life could be taken to a whole new level.

My real fear is realizing what I've eaten the night before.  How many Gas-X can I safely take at one time?  The little stool is rolled into position and the doctor suggests to relax my knees.  I'm thinking, "buddy, if I relax my knees that little stool is going to be blown backwards, through the wall and into the next examining room."  You couldn't pay me enough to be at his end of the table.

When all is said and done, it's great to know I have a clean bill of health for hopefully another year and since I'm all gussied up, I call the hubby and go out for dinner and a real date night.