About My Husband

In one of my lesser-brained moments, I told The Holbs last week that in honor of his graduation, he could have one whole week to do whatever he wanted. Be whomever he pleased! Climb every mountain!  That sort of thing.  But wasn't that a little hasty of me? One never knows what kind of mischief one's husband can get into when one's husband's brain has been fried. Nearly immediately after the words were past my face I wanted them back. What was I even thinking?

The Holbs rubbed his hands in glee and began immediately plotting all kinds of nefarious deeds.  Like, board games. Yuck.

Here is what The Holbs has chosen to do with his Manly Week of Whateverment.

Number One: Eat at the China Buffet.  Now, the China Buffet is located at the glamorous Palouse Mall, and is the kind of all-you-can-eat place that is empty nearly all of the time.  Their orange chicken is sort of a neon color and from the looks of things their shrimp has been sitting out all year. Obviously we have never eaten at the China Buffet because I value my spouse and his intestinal fortitude, and as a result, for The Holbs, the China Buffet has been like a siren song in the dark night of his soul.  Legend goes that last year, as The Holbs and his temporarily infertile wife walked the mall like old people past the empty China Buffet, where ghosts of steamy reheated paradise whispered sweet nothings to him from the buffet line, The Holbs declared that one day, ONE DAY, maybe when he had finished his last final, ONE DAY, HE WOULD EAT AT THE CHINA BUFFET.  He was so sure of himself that I had to agree. Obviously he was getting a glimpse into his future and it was some kind of prophetic moment for him. So, I said yes. By then I will likely be sick of him anyway, I mean, two whole years more of this nonsense?  Should he get a life insurance policy first?

And so on Tuesday when The Holbs triumphantly handed in his final final, he immediately marched himself over to the China Buffet at the mall for days-old reheated gyoza.  I obviously did not attend because of the fetus, who is really only interested in Mexican food these days, and who also has no need of salmonella or E. coli. (That is good parenting, and you can pat me on the back if you'd like to.)

The good news is, it is Thursday and The Holbs is still alive, leading me to wonder, was I wrong about the China Buffet all along?

This will require some soul searching.

Number Two: Attend Midnight Showing of Iron Man During Important Ghost Whisperer Reruns.  I did a little online research and discovered that the next time the Ion channel showed their bonanza five-hour Ghost Whisperer Rerun Extravaganza, it would be the episodes where Wife Beater Guy (1) gets his memory back, (2) kisses her romantically, (3) AND proposes!  Only but The Holbs in his Holbs Week Righteousness declared it to be an Iron Man night, with the wife to kindly be in attendance. So I was faced with two options. Do I go see the 9:30 Iron Man and appreciate the charm of Robert Downey Jr. and MISS THE BIG GHOST WHISPERER PAYOFF?  Or do I stay home by my lonesome with all of the lights turned on, jumping at every sound out the window and dragging the dogs into the bathroom with me, just so I can see a little already-married-people action?

I chose the Robert Downey. I still don't know if that was the right thing to do or not.

Number Three: Invite All Canine Family Members Back onto the Bed for Sleep-Time Snuggling.  At which time Barnaby promptly puked on the sheets in excitement.

On the plus side, I discovered a new hobby! The late afternoon when you're coming home from running errands is the best time to do it. Basically, you notice all of the dogs looking forlornly out of their living room windows. It is delightful. All of these dogs, in varying positions, staring out the window at you while you drive past, while you stare back at them. I particularly enjoy the taller dogs, whose heads reach just past the window. They stare at you longingly, these floating dog heads, with their muzzles sort of pressed up against the glass. But I have a special place in my heart for the little dogs perched on the backs of sofas. My one neighbor has twin poodles who cock their heads to the side at you in unison. Delicious.

(I got this idea one day when I had to drive past my house during criss-crossing errands and I saw Peter Pan straddling the back of the sofa, giving me the oddest look, like, Hey, don't I know that woman?)

In other good news, the garden center is open at the local Walmart, improving my quality of aimless afternoon wandering at least ten-fold.

The point to all this unnecessary information is thus: I am about to get too busy for any of you.

Tomorrow the hordes will descend upon our tiny hamlet for Brandon's graduation. My parents and my cute little brother, and The Holbsparents and his Holbsister and Holbsbrother, they are coming here to my once cute and decorated but now empty and soulless home that nobody is buying. And I have some THINGS to DO, so that is what I will be doing.

(Also, I looked it up and I don't think Moscow is actually a hamlet. Isn't that disappointing?)