I knew I had special readers. Really, I did. I just didn’t realize how many of you were that overachieving 3rd grade nerd with the thing for Popsicle sticks. Wow. Two-stories? For real?
Anyways, I’ll be randomly selecting one of you to win a scarf I haven’t made quite yet soon. Very soon. And, Miranda, you called it, talking about bursting fruit was pretty much mortifying. Extra point for you.
Ok, now back to your regularly scheduled programming…
Mark and I spent 2 full weeks in Mexico. That’s 336 hours of being together. No time apart for work or karate or climbing rocks or clients. Pure Mexican togetherness.
I’m not going to lie. I was scared. I know, I know. I’m married to him for forever and spending that much time with him should have been nothing. I mean, who gets scared of 336 hours after you’ve promised infinite?
Me. That’s who.
I’m sorry, but I don’t even believe that Edward and Bella could have driven to Mexico and spent 2 weeks together without hating each other by the end of it. AND they have that crazy vampire/timid human love thing going for them. All Mark and I have are marriage vows and a mutual love for Big Macs. And, sadly, Big Macs aren’t always enough.
I was prepared for fighting, getting uber-annoyed with each other, and threatening to walk back to The Border where Shelly would (hopefully) be picking me up.
But guess what? None of that happened. NONE.
We didn’t fight and I didn’t try to leave or make him pull the car over or anything. We seriously had a great time together, and both of us agreed that they were probably the best two weeks of our marriage ever. I know I shouldn’t be so shocked, but I seriously was.
In fact, I am so impressed with our ability to like each other for such a long period of time that I’ve taken the time to document it in pie graph form:
As seen in the graph, there is lots of blue which means lots of happy. I’m sorry, but the happy stories are boring. It’s just kissing and giggling. Barf.
That little sliver, though? I’d like to tell you about that:
mad at mark on the drive down – 1 hour
By the time we got to Arkansas it hit me that I would not be spending Christmas with my family. That I had spent 27 consecutive Christmas-times with my family and now this…this…this JERK was kidnapping me and taking me to Mexico…
(Literally out of nowhere)
Marie: I’M NOT GOING TO SEE MY MOM ON CHRISTMAS DAY! (sobbing)
Mark: We’re in Arkansas. We can’t turn around.
Marie: Why do you hate me???
(goes on until we stop at McDonald’s where I finally calm down)
mad at mark that one night – 1 hour
Most nights I ended up in bed about 30 minutes before Mark did because I was worn out from all the knitting and reading I had done. Going to bed alone rarely bothers me, but on this one particular night I knew that Mark’s late arrival to the bedroom was a sign that he didn’t love me and that our marriage was slowly deteriorating. By the time he got there to “defend” himself I was crying and trying to make a bed on the floor (maybe I’m more Drama Bear than Care Bear…).
I’m not going to lie. This fight ended well… if you know what I’m saying. Heh.
mad at mark on the way home – 2 hours
Ah. This one was the doozy.
Mark had driven the entire way to The Border because of my lack of stick shift driving ability (you can’t get to Texas in first gear). That’s, like, 19 hours of driving. In Texas. Which, though beautiful, is boring. He was basically my superhero, right? Right.
I guess I kind of assumed that he would make that same magic happen again on the way home. Heck, I even managed to guarantee that magic by promising he could buy whatever electronic gadget he was lusting after as soon as he got us home safe and sound.
So, I’m sorry that it was 2AM. And I’m sorry that he’d been driving for nearly 14 hours. And I’m sorry I wasn’t a better stick shift student… BUT a deal is a deal, Dude. And if you want to play with a new doo-dad gadget you better keep on driving.
In the middle of my speech about how making me drive would be a breach of contract, something Jesus would NEVER do, Mark pulled off at the next exit (an exit, I would like to add, that only had a boobie bar… something else Jesus would NEVER do). He pulled off the exit so that we could switch places. Him in the passenger seat, me in the driver’s seat.
Marie: I don’t know what I’m doing!
Mark: You’ll be fine. Get into first gear please.
Marie: I hate you.
Mark: Ok, the clutch please (he puts it into second). Accelerate.
Marie: You’re not getting a new toy.
Mark: Clutch (he puts it into third). Accelerate.
Marie: I mean, what kind of person does this to someone they love? You do love me, don’t you?
Mark: Clutch (into fourth). Accelerate.
Marie: This is like a death wish, you know. Letting someone who can’t drive a stick drive? What is wrong with you, Man!?
Mark: Clutch (into fifth). Just keep doing 70. And please quit whining. I’m going to take a nap.
And there I was. All by myself on an interstate in Arkansas DRIVING A STICK SHIFT. Normally, I’d be ecstatic and beating my chest with my typical “I am AWESOME!” stuff, but I was PISSED. And for the next 2 hours I fumed at how unfair Mark was being, you know with making me drive for what ended up being a total of 2 hours and all.
I probably shouldn’t have replayed that last memory in my head. Now I’m pissed again.