Promises, Promises

By cinnamon_girl, Flickr, Creative Commons.

Little did my husband know…

I’m so thankful that, when Lou and I got married, we didn’t write our own vows.

Instead, we just stuck to the big ones: sickness, health, richer, poorer, etc., etc.

I think it’s pretty cute when other couples write their own vows and say, “I’ll let you play video games,” or “I’ll laugh at all your jokes.”

But, had Lou and I made those kinds of promises to one another, there’s no way I could be true to my vows.

Ten promises I’ve broken to my husband:

1.  I told Lou that as long as he put the clothes in the washer and dryer, I would have no issue folding them right away.

2.  I’ve promised Lou that I won’t let the kitties lick my plate after a meal. As I write this, Mia is chowing down on some leftover tomato sauce.

3.  When I became a freelancer, I told Lou that, each day, I’d at least wear mascara. I didn’t even make it to week two.

4.  Because I work at home, I also insinuated that I would take over all the dishes and general house-tidying responsibilities. Psh!

5.  I don’t think I need to explain what has happened with the ironing.

6.  I’ve also promised Lou that I would always, always want to hit the trail.

7.  I’ve assured Lou (countless times) that I will squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube. I just checked our toothpaste and in spite of his rolling up the end, I’ve still squished it from the middle.

8.  I also tell him I won’t let hair go down the shower drain.

9.  When Lou bought his guitar amp, I told him it wouldn’t bother me at all when he played. After all, what kind of a wife wouldn’t support her husband’s art?

10.  “If you let me get another kitty, emptying the litter box will be my job.”

Side note: Now I have Promises, Promises by Naked Eyes running through my mind. Listen and watch the rockin’ 80s video here.


My happy place.

I posted this photo on my Facebook page a few weeks ago and it got a lot of attention.

“What was that all about?” asked my father-in-law, who hates Facebook so much he doesn’t even have an account.

I was a little thrown by the question.

It’s pretty simple. This is what Lou and I do on our weekend evenings. Usually on a Friday night.

While I chop veggies and roll the dough for our pizza, Lou uncorks one of those practical-joke-sized beers for me. I used to only drink Delirium Tremens but now I’m enjoying La Fin du Monde.

Wow, I really want one right now.

Anyway, he plucks at his guitar while I assemble the pizza and we chat. Or, more accurately, I blab like crazy and he goes into that spacey musician place as he tries to figure out the next chord to whatever song he’s writing.

Once the pizza’s in the oven, we head outside for a few rounds of Gin Rummy. I taught Lou how to play the game on our honeymoon and we’ve had a running competition since we picked the cards back up a couple months ago. Our scores are in the thousands and he’s usually in the lead.

Lou smokes a cigar and we put on the latest album we both enjoy (lately, it’s been Smile by The Beach Boys or Crazy for You by Best Coast).

I couldn’t really tell you what we talk about. Work, music, writing, family, marriage, whatever.

We’re usually having so much fun, it’s a little disappointing when the oven beeps and we have to eat the pizza.

Recently, I got a little sore at Lou for writing (what felt like) the fifth song in a row with lyrics about getting old.

I suppose he’s right. We are old.

Because playing cards with my husband over a few beers is absolutely the most fun I’ve ever had.

Especially because on those nights, I’m in bed by 11.