I wrote this last year. I'm just slowly putting up some of my old entries onto here.
My husband is a strange fellow. He’s twenty-three-years-old and still acts like a big kid. I’m not saying this is a bad thing, because it isn’t. But when he acts like a big kid and makes a mess out of everything, well, one can’t help but get rather annoyed. When I came home from class last night Tom said he wanted to show me something. I assumed it was something else he wanted online, something that he didn’t really need but just wanted to show me to see if I’d relent and say, “Oh fine, get it.” I was surprised when he didn’t lead me to the computer, but upstairs. Tommy followed close behind with a wide grin as if he knew what Tom was showing me.
“Look! Isn’t it awesome!” Tom said and showed me Tommy’s room.
Or at least I thought it was Tommy’s room.
Suddenly, the room that used to be Tommy’s was transformed into a mini train station. Tom had set up the Geo Tracks we had gotten for Tommy and had put up little buildings around the room. He had moved Tommy’s toybox to the side and there were empty toy boxes piled everywhere. You could barely even walk. I looked at Tom and asked if he planned on cleaning it up.
“But look. Look at the train!” Tom announced, pretending he hadn’t heard me. Then he showed me how the train moved and Tommy started jumping up and down with glee.
I had to admit that yes, it was cool, but I kept thinking to myself, Holy crap look at the mess in here! The mess is still there by the way. I’ll probably clean it up later and keep part of the train set up.
I’m making ham for my husband on Easter. I could see it was important to him. He kept shrugging and saying we didn’t have to have it, that we could just have hamburgers for all he cared, but I saw in his eyes how much he wanted that ham. So today, at the commissary we bought one. I have no idea what to do with it but it’s in the fridge, thawing. I found a recipe online that I’m going to try and I’ll post it here to see what other people think of it.
We got a big ass ham. I let Tom pick one out, thinking he’d get a small one. I was surprised when he lifted up this big chunk of pink and clunked it in our cart.
“Sixteen dollars for a ham?” I asked. “We’re not even going to finish that.”
“It’s the good ham,” Tom promised.
I just shrugged because I didn’t know any better. Ham is ham to me.
When we first got to the commissary we realized something was different. Suddenly all the workers were dressed up, the ladies with fresh lipstick on, the men with their hair neatly back. The baggers stood with smiles on their faces against the wall, waiting for their turn to bag. It was eerie when Tom and I walked in to that because usually the baggers are all laughing and talking about the latest trends, standing around in clumps, and suddenly, there they were, shoved up against the walls, smiling at nothing.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Tom who said he had no idea.
The commissary was set up so nicely. There were fancy displays out and a real toilet was brought in surrounded by Lysol cleaners with a huge sign, “Lysol gets the job done!” over it. The commissary had never gone all out before; in fact most of their displays were done on the end of the aisles with a simple paper sign that read in black ink, “Beans. 50 cents.” So it was strange to see fancy displays set up with fancy signs advertising the latest sales. It seemed everyone was busy working too and I saw a woman polishing (!!) the apples. She had a nice cloth and she’d pick one up, polish it, and set it back down gently. I was almost afraid to get some apples. I was worried if I went to take one she’d slap my hand away with her cloth and say, “No touching!”
When we went down each aisle there was a person greeting you at the beginning of each one. The first time it happened I jumped. There we were, going down the baked goods aisle, when all of a sudden a woman leaped out from the corner and said, “Hello! And how are you today?” I blinked at her in disbelief and went, “I’m fine thanks,” and she gave me a huge grin and stepped back to her spot.
“I’m scared,” I whispered to Tom.
When we got down the fifth aisle (by this point we were saying hello to the people before they said hello to us first) I was surprised to see a woman handing out cheese samples. This commissary has never handed out samples before. The commissary in Nebraska sometimes did, but rarely. Now suddenly this woman was standing there with a fancy tray, handing out squares of cheese, promising that we’d be pleasantly surprised.
By the frozen food aisle we found out what was going on. A Colonel was coming to inspect the commissary and while Tom and I were debating whether or not we should get chicken patties, hot dogs, or both, there was the important Colonel, dressed in a flight jacket, followed by six commissary workers and being lead by the manager.
“Can I interest you in a sample of vanilla Pepsi?” a woman asked us. She had come out of nowhere, I tell you. I took a paper Dixie cup off her tray and thanked her. Then she rushed over to the Colonel and I saw her practically bow down at him as she offered him a sample.
“No thank you,” the Colonel said. “I prefer Coke.”
“I can get you some!” the woman gushed. “I can get you some right now!”
It was just…wow.
At one point Tommy had dropped one of his Elmo snacks that he was munching on. I bent down to pick it up and I swear, this other woman came out of nowhere and quickly swiped it up.
“Oh,” I said. “Thank—”
But she was gone, off to find another speck of dirt or something.
Some grocery shopping experience huh?
**End Commissary Story**
Tom and I didn’t have our date last night. He was so tired but he kept saying he’d watch a movie to me. It was amusing to see him on the couch, eyes drooping, so I told him to just go to bed and we’d watch movies on Friday. He was out once his head hit the pillows.
This morning I woke up to him stroking my hair, whispering that he loved me. He kept holding me close saying, “I love you so much!” We always tell each other I love you. Everyday. It was making me a tad nervous when Tom was doing it though so I asked, half asleep, “Are you dying or something?” He chuckled and said, “No. I just love you.”
So my husband can be a bit of a kid. He can even be romantic. And, he can even be, well…strange.
See, I was putting away the groceries when we got home and I asked Tom to hand me the ground meat. He said, in a suggestive tone, “I have your meat right here,” and then grabbed his crotch, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.
I have no idea why he thinks that’s sexy but he does it ALL the time like I’m supposed to clasp my hands together and coo, “You’re ever so funny!” Instead I just shake my head and say he’s crazy.