I’ve been feeling guilty lately.
I didn’t give anything to Carl for our anniversary last week, except a card, which I made, which he didn’t find as funny as I thought he would. I mean, we did promise not to give presents this year. And hey – I get it. I mean, how many times can you give someone edible underwear and still have it mean something? Really?
But I thought I should do SOMETHING. The poor guy’s dealt with my neuroticism for 10 years. Something creative, special, mind-blowing.
And to achieve this, I brought in the vocal stylings of (drum roll, please)… Lionel Richie.
I ventured on with my plan, accompanied with the baby and laptop in the 7-year old’s room because his room is less messy than ours is.
Carl: What the hell are you doing in there?
Me: Nothing! Leave me alone!
Carl: Are you singing?
Me: No! Go away!
[At this time, I start giggling. Hysterically. And… cue the baby crying.]
Carl: What is going on in there?
Me: Everything is fine (picks up the baby and whispers to her that I’ll let her chew on my phone if she just quiets down).
Carl: The fuck? I’m gonna break the door down.
Me: It’s unlocked! [I can’t even breathe because I’m laughing so hard]
As he opens the door, Carl stares at me, then the laptop that has a video of Lionel with Shania Twain. I should also mention I’m in fetal position on our son’s bedroom floor surrounded by robots while the baby is chewing on a Gerald and Piggy book.
He shakes his head and closes the door.
At this point I’m pretty sure Carl is watching our wedding video and thinking of all the times that day when he should have run away.
Here’s what I was laughing about and as Carl says I told you it wasn’t funny. AT. ALL. :