Dear Girl in the gym who needed to pull down her shorts and up her shirt to prod at her flat stomach in the mirror,

I was going to be all snippy and say things like I can bench press you and I may be fat but at least I can do math.

But your skinny ass looked so damn critical and annoyed and unhappy.  So honey, let me back up the snark and say that you don’t need to go to the gym to worry about those things.  Do that in your house.  At the gym, worry about how your body feels.

Hugs,

The pudgy girl sweating buckets on the elliptical who left with a smile on her face because her body felt awesome.

PS.  Get some 34DDs.  With the right bra and shirt combo, you can be 5 months pregnant and look like you have flat abs.

——-

Dear Target,

You disappoint.  And FYI: no one’s interested in bright red food utensils made in China.

Sincerely,

The lady who kept most of her money to give to a different store.

——

Dear Whole Foods,

You do not disappoint.  How much would it cost to let me in after hours, turn on all the bulk spigots, and roll around in it?

Luv,

A woman who is frufru enough to buy quinoa and whole wheat pastry flour but also frugal enough to not pay frufru prices

—-

Dear Shoulder,

What.  The.  Fuck.  I get it.  No more iPhone games until you’re feeling better.  Now feel better.  Damnit.

Yours Truly,

I mean it.

Him:  Do you want to come along?

Me:  No.  If I had known there was an emergency errand to run I could have already been wearing pants.  Instead I want to lie here, pantless, drink my own mucsus, and strew over the gross lack of misscommunication.

Him:  Are you sure?  Because you sound like you’re wavering.

For the next week or so, Grandma and I can still pretend everything is normal.  I am not even sure if her surgeon told her the news…Grandma asked me while she was still in recovery and groggy on pain meds and I said yes, it was evident cancer had spread to her lymph nodes and she said, but what does that mean, no chemo right and I said, well, yes chemo is the usual treatment but we don’t have to worry about that right now and she said OK.  She hasn’t brought it up since.  We will visit the surgeon next week and that’s soon enough for me.

Grandma has been slow to get back in gear and while I understand she had a kinda major operation, I do believe she is using it as a bit of an excuse to just give in to her general tired and worried attitude.  So when I came today and found she hadn’t dressed all day, I pressed for us to eat at the pseudo-restaurant that’s part of the cafeteria.

Several times throughout the meal she conceded that the dinner was better, more fun, more relaxing and probably good for her.  I mentioned I wasn’t leaving until I saw her dressed and out doors so she might as well as have agreed to a pleasant dinner before I grand marched her.  She said she might have sensed that.  We then had the following conversation.

Me:  Now tomorrow I’ll run errands in the morning, fix lunch, and make sure you’re set for dinner before I leave.

Grandma: Oh, you don’t have to do that.  I can take care of myself.

Me:  You can, can you?

Grandma:  Yes, and I’d better.  Otherwise my granddaughter will…

Me:  Get on to you?

Grandma:  Yes!  You would not believe how tough she is!

Me:  I can imagine.

Grandma:  She’s so tough on me!

Me:  I solved that problem by not having kids.

Grandma:  Well if I had known how it would turn out, I might not have either.

Me:  Indeed.

Grandma:  That’s the problem with things like this.  You never know what you’re going to get.

For Valentine’s day (or really, the Sunday before since Tom flew out Monday AM), I requested we watch Casablanca.  Tom always vetos any movie choice I make in black and white, so it’s been forever since I saw it.  I forgot how awesome it is, and Tom admitted it was much better than he was antiscipating. 

We had the following conversation afterwards:

Me:  Baby, I’d totally sleep with a cafe owner for your letter of transit.

Him:  Yeah?

Me:  Yeah.

Him:  Baby, you’d sleep with a cafe owner for my bar tab.

Me:  Yeah?

Him: Yeah.

Me:  Yeah.

When my family came to visit for the holidays, we were blessed with warm weather.  This was unusual because the temperature always seems to dip into the teens (OK, forties) when my mother crosses the state line.

We took advantage by eating on the outside patio of Sea Critters, by far my favorite sea food restaurant in the Tampa Bay area.  Tom and I have successfully entertained many out-of-town guests there, as well as just gone for a twosome meal every now and then.  But remember, I’ve lived in this area for ten+ years now.  Sea Critters has been one of my go-to spots for almost as long.

Which led to the following conversation at the dinner table with my entire family…

Him:  It’s not too bad this time.  We usually have to wait.

Me:  Not always.

Him:  Yes, at least a little bit.

Me:  Not the time I got drunk off Mai Tais.

Him: ….

Me:  Maybe that wasn’t you.

Him:  Yes, you really should change states when changing husbands so that doesn’t happen.

Me:  Wasn’t a husband.

Him:  Well, hell.  There’s not enough states to start covering the rest of them!

“Who left this glass right here so I would think it’s my margarita?  Because I just swigged straight tequila.”

“Oppsies.”

TG:  How’s things at the sanctuary?

Me:  My co-worker just brought me a baggie of intern hair.  Does that sum it up?

Five minutes after Tom has told me a rather raunchy story from his past…

“I’m so happy.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t think most husbands can tell their wives stories like that.”

“Uh, like what?”

(Fingers smeared under nose such as end of said story) “That story.”

“Oh.  Well, whatever.”

“I’m so lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Yup.”

“That you have a crass slut as a wife?”

“Yup.”

“Ok then.”

Me:  I hate to miss another funeral.  You’re family is so close.

Him:  Is not!

Me:  You have some vague idea of where all of your cousins are right at this moment.  I am not entirely sure what contitent one of my cousins lives on.

Him:  Point taken.

(I still did not attend the funeral; other scheduling commitments prevailed.  Lord know what perceptions this is leading to.  At the other funeral?  Tom was accused of making me up.  An imaginary wife.  Which seems to be a running theme for me.  Do you think being imaginary could get me out of doing dishes?  Perhaps I could call in imaginary to work?)

“So I checked on my beer, and some of it is carbonating very well, and some of it not so well.  It says to carbonate for a minimum of 7 days…I think I will let it carbonate 10-14 days.”

“At 7 days, why don’t you drink one of the most carbonated ones and one of the least and then decide what you like best?”

“You do realize you just suggested I drink 2 liters of beer?”

“Well, you married me for a reason, right?”

“True.”