Things I’m loving about Mark going out and climbing rocks all the time:
1. He’s getting in shape. I love watching him squirm as I beg for him to show me his abs. You can tell he’s thinking, “For real? You want me to lift up my shirt? Or is this Marie being stupid? It’s probably Marie being stupid. I’m not going to do it. But what if she’s for real…”
2. I get the bed to myself. This may be horribly selfish of me, but I love having the bed to myself. I once had a guy friend say that if he got married he’d like for his wife to think about having separate rooms, and just come together when “necessary”. I thought he was a freak who didn’t understand love. Or marriage. Married people sleep in the same bed UNLESS the husband has proven himself to be jerk. Then, and only then, does a couple have the right to sleep separately. All my preconceived ideas of marital sleeping arrangements, however, are flying out the window as we speak because an unending supply of “cool spots” has got to be the best middle of the night present ever.
3. I get to miss him. I’m probably addicted emotions, and this is going to sound so “emo”, but I love being sad. And heartbroken. There is something so earthy and human about feeling like your world is crumbling down around you because the person you love more than anything won’t answer your AIM messages. I mean, can you even begin to comprehend the genius of Alanis Morissette if you haven’t been to the lowest of lows like that? I think not. One of the things I thought before walking down the aisle was, “Am I ever going to be gut wrenching sad again? I hope so.” Freak. I know. Needless to say, marriage did not put an end to sadness or feelings of complete loneliness, and Mark’s occasional absence means that I get to get all weepy for no real reason. It’s lovely.
There is a downside though. And that downside’s name is Chiggers.
Eww, right? Mark is eat up with chiggers AND he still wants to sleep in the same bed. Seriously? You want to endanger me, your darling wife, the mother of your cats, by bringing these beasts into our home? Into our BED? You have got be kidding me.
Other than the fact that I’m positive that I have chiggers now (I mean, can you even read this without getting itchy? Exactly.) I’ve been given the title of Official Chigger Nurse. And let me tell you, this is not fun…
Mark: Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Marie: Clear nail polish will help (except for the fact that it doesn’t, which I didn’t find out until I looked for a picture of the nasty little things). Let me put some on you.
Mark: No, I’m fine. Scratch, scratch, scratch.
Marie: Well, I’m not fine. Your scratching is bothering the crap out of me, and it’s spreading all your chigger friends all over our house. Give me your leg.
Except Mark isn’t a good patient that lets the Official Chigger Nurse do her job in peace. No, this patient has an opinion on everything…
Mark: Don’t put so much nail polish on there. You’re spreading it around too thin. You dropped some! OH MY GOODNESS A DROP OF CLEAR NAIL POLISH HAS LANDED ON THE COUCH!
Mark: It will NEVER come out. Nail polish does not come out.
Marie: Then how, exactly, are we going to get you cleaned up from this clear nail polish sponge bath I’m giving you?
Marie: Exactly. Now shut up and let me focus on tending to your wounds…
Ok, so my bedside manner sucks. But, seriously, you kinda lose all your rights to opinions once you bring bloodsucking vermin into our bedroom (unless, of course, it’s Edward Cullen… then we can talk…)