Category Archives: Conversations

Conversations With My Husband: Romance

I was sitting at my computer yesterday, diligently doing research on new and exciting fundraising ideas, when my husband came in from mowing the lawn. The scent of freshly cut grass and sunshine and spring came in with him, and I smiled as he took off his headphones and kicked off his shoes.

“I’m gonna hit the showers,” he said, and made a beeline for the bathroom. Just as the door closed behind him, I heard him say, “I always feel so manly after the first mow of the season. Man. Arrrr.”

Brian on another "manly" day.

Brian on another “manly” day.

A few minutes later, he emerged, clean and fresh as a daisy. I hear him rummaging around in the bedroom, drawers opening and closing, and a momentary conversation with one of the cats. As I’m typing away at my keyboard, I suddenly felt his hands on my shoulders, his fingers kneading away some of the ever-present tension residing there.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, brushing a hand over my hair.

“Just some quick research,” I mumbled, focused on navigating my mouse.

“I have plans for us tonight,” he said quietly. His hand brushed over my hair. Playfully. Seductively.

“Oh?” I say, becoming distracted by my husband’s roving hands.

“Yeah.” He walked around to the side of my chair and pushed my hair away from my neck. “As soon as you’re done with work, and you’re home from the gym, we’re gonna have some fun.” He bends down and kisses my neck, just below my ear, in that spot I like best. Lingering.

And even after all this time, my heart skips a beat.

“Fun, huh?” I say, leaning into him. “So…whatcha got planned, hot shot?”

“I’m gonna kick your ass at Mario Party,” he whispers. And then he retreats to his favorite video gaming spot on the couch.

Romance sm

Romance. We’ve got it in spades.

(We did play Mario Party last night. And he won. Twice.)

The Downside of Dreaming

It’s fun to dream. Planning a future you can’t quite see yet, that’s still fuzzy around the edges; filling in the shadowy bits that aren’t quite in focus–everybody does it. Maybe you’re imagining what your next job might look like, or what a move to the city might feel like, or even where your next vacation might take you. Either way, we all spend time dreaming about, planning for, and being excited by that upcoming phase in life.

For us, the dreams have been pretty specific for several years. Baby, house, new careers. That’s been my mantra since probably somewhere around 2005.

Dreams 1

My husband and I have shared these dreams for years, though my version is colored in a little differently than his. (He sees wood cabinets and tile floors; I see white cabinets and hard wood floors.) But we still pull out that imaginary blue print from time to time, talk about our likes and dislikes, our wishlists and our deal breakers, and we continue to color in the dreams for our future together.

As time passes, and those dreams have yet to become a reality, dreaming takes on a different hue. There’s more blue there than before, and not because we’re selecting paint colors for Brian’s man cave. I find that, after an afternoon of house-shopping or adoption talk, my mood swings from delighted to deflated. It feels like we’ve been waiting on these things to happen forever–and in many ways, we have.

Being patient, especially when it comes to things you ache for, is really hard.

Sometimes, the “we don’t have a baby” or “we can’t afford a house just yet” blues can stick around for awhile for me. Despite knowing that I already have a pretty amazing life–husband, family, friends, cats, fun–it can still be hard to sit in ‘today’ when what I really want is to be sitting in a shiny, new ‘tomorrow.’

But sometimes, all it takes to jar me back to my awesome reality is a bit of wisdom from my husband.


(Ok, so he might not have been so poetic about it, but that was the gist.)

I may not have a big house in the woods, with a little nook set aside for me to write the next great American novel. I might not have an agent, or a publisher, or a novel on the shelf at the bookstore bearing my name. I might not have an adorable, precocious toddler demanding every bit of my free time and attention and adoration.

But the word that’s missing?


Those things will come, in time. And for now, I will revel in the things I do have, and try to keep the blue out of my blueprint of dreams.

Do You Have A Zombie Apocalypse Team?

You guys watch “The Walking Dead,” right? I mean, everyone does. (And if you don’t, you should start now.)

I have a group of friends who are more than enthusiastic about this show. Dinner parties with them often involve strategic meetings on how we will handle the apocalypse when it happens, and don’t be surprised when I tell you that we do, in fact, have a very specific plan for when the dead start walking. Each of us has a job to do, and each of us bring a different dynamic to the group. Brian, as a nurse, is our health care expert. Frank is undoubtedly the “moral compass” of the group, and has also taken on the mantle of team historian. His wife, Linda, is in charge of sniffing out decent bottles of wine to go with our food, prepared by yours truly. Our other pal, Lynda, who originally started our Zombie Apocalypse Team, is cunning and smart–a natural born leader. Her husband, Jimmy, is our “Beth.”

Except our campfire songs will be decidedly more rock-n-roll, since Jimmy is a drummer. Probably lots of Foo Fighters, with some Led Zeppelin thrown in for good measure.

Anywho, you get the drift. Amongst our friends, our game plan is as follows: when the infrastructure fails, and zombies start chasing after us for our very tasty brains, the entire crew will be coming to our house first.

Not because it’s safest or centrally located. Not because it’s zombie proof. But because it’s closest to Google.

Now, I don’t know if other Google facilities are as apocalypse-aware as ours. I don’t know if it’s part of their game plan, or if it’s just a lucky break in design. But this place is impenetrable–high fence with barbed wire, security locked gate, surrounded by hills and trees for cover. In fact, I haven’t the foggiest what the actual facility looks like because they have successfully blocked it from public view. But the one thing that solidified our plan most recently was Google’s addition of its very own water tower.

I’ve had dreams about one of our own climbing carefully to the top, a bag of spray paint on their back, to notify other survivors that we have found a safe haven.


Once we’ve set up camp at Google Headquarters–I’m imagining there will be some walkers we’ll have to dispatch, probably some fence we’ll have to repair and some cleaning up to do–we can settle in to a life of survival, but in the utmost comfort that an apocalypse survivor can expect. I mean, we’ve all heard how great of a place Google is to work for, so I’m expecting cushy offices from which we can appropriate furniture, access to a state-of-the-art gym, a huge cafeteria we can make use of for food storage and prep, and maybe even a pool, if we’re lucky. We’ll be far enough out of the city center to avoid most giant herds of walkers, but close enough to facilities like Walmart, grocery stores, and pharmacies for supplies.

We would be gracious hosts, but reign with an iron fist. There would be Google Jail for those who acted inappropriately (or for any who stole from our wine stores.) We would set up a kind little community with gardens (for flowers AND vegetables), activities (like mini-marathons and creativity contests, in honor of our host site), and a workable government (Lynda for President!).

It would be a sustainable colony, at least for awhile. All in all, I think it’s a pretty solid plan. And if you’re interested in joining, you’ll have to let us know. We have some questions for you.

For the original meme, which only makes this one funnier, click HERE.

For the original meme, which only makes this one funnier, click HERE.


This post is dedicated to my Dinner Club friends–those we affectionately know as The Apocalypse Team.

dinner club


Dialogue: Real Life Vs. Internal

New Friend: “So, Abby, what do you do for a living?”

Ooh. This social situation just got a little hairier than you’d expected. Do you respond with a long-winded, detail-stuffed explanation of your overly simple job? Do you simply call yourself a business manager and move on with life? Maybe you could get her to buy the story that you’re a writer by day and a Storm Trooper by night.

Me: “Actually, I’m a writer.”

Did you really just say that out loud?? Who the hell are you kidding? It’s not a profession unless you’re getting paid, ya dork. Maybe she didn’t hear you. Hurry up and tell the truth before…

New Friend: “Oh, really? Anything I might’ve read?”

Great. She reads. Didn’t expect that, didja? Congrats on hanging out in social circles with well-educated people who actually read books. Now you get to explain what you mean by ‘writer.’ She’s probably expecting you to mention The New Yorker, or a popular publishing house. Maybe she thinks you lunch with Stephen King. How are you going to even begin to describe…

Me: “Probably not. I’ve been writing blogs since 2007–one in particular since 2011. I am also seeking publication on my first novel, and working on a second.”

Ok. Not bad. That sounded almost convincing. Good on ya! You may have just convinced a stranger that you’re a writer by trade! Surely, nothing could go wrong at this point.

New Friend: “That’s fantastic! Does your blog bring in enough revenue for you to write full time?”

Damn. You totally thought you were gonna get away with this line of answers without having to explain that you do, in fact, “work” full time, even though your job consists of answering the phone and eating Cheetohs in your pajamas between the hours of 9 am and 5 pm five days a week.

Me: “I don’t actually make any money with the blog. I work from home, which allows me a lot of free time to be able to focus on my writing. It’s been a blessing.”

Ok. Ok. I take it all back. That made you sound savvy AND grateful. You go, girl.

New Friend: “So what’s your blog about?”

Your intangible relationships with famous people? Silly illustrated posts about a dream you had once? Your irrational fear of spiders? Conversations you thought were funny?

Me: “It’s a humor blog about our lives. I write about everything from my marriage to my hobbies and everything in between. It’s always been about finding the funny in day-to-day life, although I’ve been known to write a serious post every now and then.”

Right. We’ll go with that instead. Kudos.

New Friend: “How fun! And your book? What genre?”

This one might be dicey. You did, after all, write a book about a fan girl who enters a contest to win an internship with her favorite boy band. Since this new person hasn’t even scratched the surface with your New Kids on the Block obsession, nor seen your Pinterest board dedicated solely to Donnie Wahlberg, you’re skating on thin ice here. Don’t go overboard. She might only read biographies about important dead people.

Me: “I’m pitching it as contemporary romance. It’s about a 30-something woman who’s stuck in a dead end job that she hates. She finds out that her favorite band is hosting an online contest, looking for a new PR consultant, and she enters on a whim. She wins, and is whisked away on a month-long internship that results in adventure, personal growth, and love.”

Wow. You should write book jackets. For realsies. And look–your new friend is smiling, and nodding, and isn’t throwing canapes or empty wine bottles at your face. That didn’t just sound plausible, it sounded downright professional! Look at you, Ms. I’m A Full Time Writer Lady!

New Friend: “That’s really great. I’d love to read your work sometime.”

This is it! This is it!! Set yourself up right here for success….

Abby: *reaches into wallet* “Here’s my business card–the address to my blog is on the back. Stop by and visit sometime.”

Aaaaannnnd it’s a perfect dismount. Scores of 10 across the board, even from the stingy French judge.

Because every super hero deserves a pink tutu.

Because every super hero deserves a pink tutu.

Congratulations, Abby. You just called yourself a writer AND gained a new reader, all within one quick conversation at a party. Treat yourself to another glass of wine, you sexy beast, you.

ComicCon 2013: The List, Part Deux

This is a continuation of my last blog, which you can find here.

When it came to putting the awesomeness of ComicCon into list form, I had a hard time choosing my top two favorite things. It’s a toss up here, people. Truly. Because the last two items on my list are so epic they each deserve their own blog. So while we’re continuing the countdown with “Number Two” on the list, let’s just call it what it is….a draw. You’ll see why, once you’ve read both blogs.

Also, I’m breaking typical list protocol with this item. It’s getting sub-categories. Because I’m the boss, that’s why.

Here’s part two of the list:

Two: The Crazy, Kind, Nerdy, Super-Awesome People of the Con
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—going to ComicCon wasn’t just about the comic books and the geek swag and the celebrity sightings. For us, it was our Nerd’s Trip to Mecca. Every single person that attended the convention—all eleventy billion of us—were there to celebrate whatever it is that we’re all fans of. It didn’t matter that this chick over here loved anime, and that chick over there loved Supernatural. What mattered was that we were all uber-fans of something. And that’s worth getting together for.

We had a few encounters with fellow nerds that left me awed and speechless. The first one happened minutes after stepping in line on the very first day of the convention.

2-AEugene and Christopher. I overheard some guys in line near us talking about their strategies on getting to the most sought-after booths. Intrigued, Brian and I drew them into conversation, and we spent the two hours waiting for the doors to open talking to our new best friends.

To Brian’s delight, we’d managed to find two toy collectors–Eugene is a fellow Transformer fan, while Christopher was in for all things Marvel. Naturally, they asked if Brian had any major purchases he was hoping to make. That’s when Metroplex came into the convo. You’ll recognize Metroplex from a photo collage in the previous blog, but here’s another shot of him, just to jog your memory:


Brian was so excited about this Transformer. Ask any of our friends and they will tell you that he was talking about this ComicCon exclusive, one per customer, hottest ticket in toy business robot for MONTHS before the event. So when Eugene and Christopher asked, Brian jumped at the chance to talk about Metroplex.

“That’s cool,” Eugene said. “So you’ve already got your voucher, right?”

Cue the crickets, and imagine us standing in a sea of nerds, mouths agape.

Turns out, the Hasbro booth was so popular, that if you intended to shop there, you had to be at the convention center at 5 a.m. to pick up a voucher, which gave you an appointment time for standing in line. Just to get to the booth. To, like, buy stuff.

And we had no clue.

It was obvious that we were both disappointed. If we didn’t get Metroplex on Day One, he would sell out, and I knew Brian would be devastated. I was in the middle of coming up with an elaborate plan to cheer up my depressed hubby when Christopher said, “I wasn’t planning on buying Metroplex, and I have a voucher for 4 o’clock today. Just meet me at the booth and I’ll get him for you.”

What the WHAT???

Here’s this guy we’d known less than an hour, and he wasn’t just offering to do something kind, he was (unknowingly) making Brian the Happiest Geek In The Land.

True to his word, he met us at the booth later that afternoon, purchased the toy for Brian, and handed it over with a smile. Brian tried to tip him, and Christopher refused. “It’s your first Con, man. I’m just glad to help. All I ask is that next time, you pay it forward.”

We will, Christopher. Thank you SO much.

2-B: The Doctor. With the 50th anniversary happening at this year’s convention, there were Doctors EVERYWHERE, and of every persuasion. I saw tall Doctors, fat Doctors, old Doctors, child Doctors, female Doctors—and I greeted each and every one of them with a jaunty “‘Ello, Doctah!” in my best (Brian would say WORST) Cockney accent. But out of all the many Doctors over the course of the Con, I managed to meet the very best one—not once, but twice.

Thursday: Brian and I are standing in line to visit one of our MUST SEE booths–the Titan Toys booth–when I saw the most adorable David Tennant-style Doctor in all the land. I fumbled for my camera and Flat Jenna (more on that later this week), and quietly asked him for a photo. He was so generous with his time, and so kind, and the photo turned out awesome. (Except for the fact that my eyes are closed. But I couldn’t help it. He was a good hugger.)


The Doctor was impressed with my tale of bringing my bestie along to the Con, even if only in flat form, and he wanted me to be sure and tell her hello. (Hi, Jenna! From the Doctor!)

I thanked him several times, and off he went into the crowd. I smiled all day thinking about how sweet he’d been to pose with Jenna and me.

Fast forward to Friday: Brian and I were fighting our way through the throngs of geeks, trying to get to a specific booth. I bumped into a very tall, rather handsome Trill (from Star Trek). I made a joke about nerdy sardines, and he laughed at me. That’s when I looked up and recognized him as our Doctor from the previous day. He recognized me too, and hugged me again. This time I gave him my business card so he could find the photo we’d taken once he arrived at home. “It’s amazing that I ran into you again, considering this huge crowd,” he said.

And he was right.

I never saw my Doctor again, but I’m hoping beyond hope that he finds me, and follows me on Twitter, soon.

2-C: Captain America. By lunchtime on Day One, we were utterly exhausted. We traipsed the entire circumference of the San Diego Convention Center just looking for a spot to sit and enjoy our sandwich. We finally managed to find an unoccupied corner of carpet, set up camp, and rested our tired feet.

I noticed Captain America as he wandered out of the double doors from the exhibit hall. His costume was damn near movie quality. I was very impressed, but too hungry to try and capture a picture. That’s when he took off his mask and started scanning the crowd. I recognized that weary face–he was looking for a place to sit, too. I made some room and waved him over. He sat down next to me gratefully.

For the next half hour, we talked to Cap about, what else, the Con. As it turned out, his father was a metal worker, and had helped him develop his costume. The shield was absolutely beautiful–there was even a little damage from battle worked into the design. He told us that he’d served in the Army, done several tours in Afghanistan, and when he’d gotten home he just wanted to do something worthwhile. He’d been dressing up for comic book conventions for a long time, and joined forces with some other masked superheros in Las Vegas to work for a charity called “Critical Care Comics.”

“We go to big children’s hospitals in the area dressed in our costumes and visit the kids,” he said proudly. “We also give them free comic books. It cheers them up and gets them excited about comics, all at the same time.”

I was so moved by this veteran’s story that I asked him if he’d have his picture taken with me. He went to stand up and said, “Oh, sure, just let me put my mask and stuff back on.”

“No need, Captain,” I replied. “You sit, stay comfy, and rest those tired feet. Besides, I’m more interested in having my picture taken with the hero behind the mask.”


We talked quietly for a little while longer, then packed up our bags and our trash and headed back into the convention. But I kept thinking about Captain America all day long. Over dinner that night, Brian said he’d been thinking about him, too.

It just goes to show that the most useful tip we received before heading into ComicCon was to just talk to people. Because we made some awesome friends, heard some amazing stories, and were inspired to be better nerds, all based on the people we met. So thanks toy collectors, Doctor Who-impersonators, and Captain America. You guys made our ComicCon experience that much more amazing, just by being you.

Stay tuned for the last installment of ComicCon 2013: The List, coming later this week. You won’t want to miss it. It was truly a full-circle moment for yours truly.

The True Definition of Awesome

awe-some  [awsuh m]
1.inspiring an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, causing or inducing awe: an awesome sight. That man is seriously awesome.

Blogging hasn’t really been on my radar too much this week. In truth, I’ve been spending most of my free time editing my novel (last draft, I swear), or hanging out with Brian. It’s not that I don’t want to blog–I have tons of ideas floating around in my brain. It’s just that when I sit down at the computer lately my creative tendencies lead me to open up that gigantic word document and delve back into getting my book ready for possible publication.

(I really am gonna try, ya’ll.)

The blog does come up in conversation around the house, though. Brian will ask me when I’m planning to post again, or if I’m suffering from writer’s block.

“What are you going to blog about tomorrow?” he’ll ask.

“I don’t know,” I’ll reply.

“Can I make a suggestion?” he’ll say, eyebrows waggling in suggestion.

And I always know what’s coming next. Without hesitation, he puffs out his chest, lowers his voice an octave, and says, “You should blog about how AWESOME I am.”

Depending on my mood (and hormone levels) I’ll either giggle, roll my eyes, or kick him in the shins.

(Not really. I’m not that violent.)


I don’t think anyone who has ever read this blog would deny the fact that I think Brian is awesome. I mean, he has his own scoreboard, for Pete’s sake. I’ve Photoshopped him as Superman, drawn him as Superman, and even created his very own superhero persona. I’ve given you a comprehensive list of things I adore about him. I gushed all about how sweet he is, how he proposed, and even how he makes me feel beautiful on my ugliest days.

And still, every couple of days, he makes this same request. In an attempt to give the man what he wants (and deserves), here are a series of memes I created just for Brian, in the name of awesomeness.

B awesome 1 B awesome 2 copy B awesome 3

It’s funny because it’s true.

This post wasn’t just inspired by Brian’s obvious desire to be touted on the internet as The Most Awesome Husband That Has Lived Or Will Ever Live Again. In fact, I’d planned this post since learning that this is National Nurse’s Week. And because my husband spends his life saving lives, I think it’s only fair that he gets a day where we celebrate his awesomeness. So if you know a nurse, come in contact with a nurse, or just want to be nice to nurses in general, help us celebrate their sacrifices by saying a simple thank you. I love you, Nurse Brian! All jokes aside, you are truly AWESOME.


Animals Talk, Too…

…even if you can’t hear them. I mean, they talk to me. I can clearly hear their thoughts just by looking at their little faces. In fact, Brian and I have conversations with our pride of cats all the time.

So when we took an impromptu trip to Riverbanks Zoo yesterday, I thought I’d show you exactly what I mean by the phrase “Animals Can Talk.”

041 078 213 Untitled-1 Untitled-2

Still not convinced? Fine. Prepare for yet another AbbyGabs video. I warned you.

See? Animals can TOTALLY talk. Am I right?

I could’ve just done another “look at all the pretty pictures I took at the zoo yesterday” post, but I’ve done those at least twice. So I thought I’d show off our collective photography skills while also making you laugh. If the pictures don’t work, I’m pretty sure my goofy animal voices will do the trick. 

I Had The Time of MY Life

Boredom set in last night by about 8 p.m. We flipped and flipped and flipped, and not a single decent television program could be found. That’s when I saw THIS in my cable lineup:

Dirty Dancing 1


I sat up and leaned in so I could read it a little better…

dirty dancign 2 copy

I looked over at my husband, who had become mysteriously interested in his laptop. With a maniacal laugh, I punched the play button and sat back to enjoy a movie classic–one I’ve seen so many times, I can recite certain scenes verbatim.

I giggled when Johnny almost lost his balance on the log. I cheered when he told off her dad for putting her in a corner. And I cried when she nailed the lift in the end…

(Oh, shut up. You know you wanted to see it, too.)

When bedtime rolled around, I pachanga-ed all the way to the bathroom, humming the music from the soundtrack under my breath.

I was squirting a line of toothpaste onto my toothbrush, singing away, when I noticed my husband standing in the doorway with THIS look on his face:

dirty dancing 3

That’s his “I’m so amused at you right now, so I’m just going to keep watching while you unknowingly humiliate yourself” face.

I stopped dead in my tracks, the melody I’d been singing dying off in a discordant manner.

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Nothing,” he answered. “Just wondering what the story was behind all those fun and cool noises you were just making.”

I giggled. “I wasn’t making noises, I was singing the song. The song from the movie.” (At this point, the hormones and lack of sleep kicked in and I couldn’t make words.) “You know…where they….” I mimed dancing. “And she…” I mimed running then jumping. “Then he…” And I mimed him lifting her into the air.

Brian shook his head, laughing, and said, “Whatever, crazy lady.” He then exited the scene, leaving me to ponder just what I sounded like to him. To me, I sounded like this:

Never mind. I get it.

Conversations with My Husband: The Omelet That Never Ends

As I mentioned in my last post, Brian is on summer vacation from school. Which means he’s home 4 days a week, from dawn to dusk. It’s been three whole weeks of no school, and I’ve enjoyed every second of having him home.

So much so that I’m afraid I’ve already been spoiled by his constant presence.

Because even though Brian doesn’t have classes right now, he still works on weekends—three 12-hour shifts, Friday through Sunday. And even though I always look forward to my Gilmore Girls Marathon on Friday morning, by Friday evening, I’m desperately lonely.

Which leads to conversations like this one, which we had last night while climbing into bed:

Abby: “Don’t go to work tomorrow.”
Brian: “I have to.”
Abby: “No, don’t. Stay home with me. You know you want to.”

Brian: “Of course I do. But I have to work because we need money.”
Abby: “P-shaw. Who needs money?? I’ll pay you to stay home.”
Brian: “And where are you going to get the money to pay me to stay home?”

Abby: “My bank account.”
Brian: “You mean our joint bank account?”
Abby: “Well, yeah.”
Brian: “Uh huh. And what do we do when we have to spend that money on groceries and there’s no more money left in that joint bank account for us to survive off of?”

Abby: *grumble grumble whine sigh grumble*

It continues on like this, logic versus relentlessness, until it becomes obvious (to me, anyway) that only bribery will work.

Abby: “Soooo…if you stay home tomorrow, I’ll make you breakfast. Anything you want in the whole wide world.”
Brian: “Oh yeah?”

Abby: “Yeah. And then we’ll go to Disney Land and have lunch with Tinkerbell. And then we’ll go on a cruise. In outer space. It’ll be awesome. You really should stay home.”
Brian: (long pause, then) “Well, alright. I’ll stay home.”
Abby: “REALLY?”

Brian: “Yeah, sure.”
Abby: “Awesome! So, what do you want for breakfast?”
Brian: “An omelet.”
Abby: “Just a plain omelet?”
Brian: “No. An omelet with sausage. And onions. And peppers.”
Abby: “Ok, I can do that.”
Brian: “And tomatoes. And cheese. It’s not an omelet without cheese.”

Abby: “Naturally.”
Brian: “I also want scratch-made biscuits. And pancakes.”
Abby: “Gee, you’re planning on being really hungry tomorrow morning.”

Brian: “Yep. Pancakes from scratch–no mix. And organic syrup.”
Abby: “Wow….”
Brian: “And also, apple-wood smoked bacon.”

Abby: “Are you sure you want to eat so much before your first trip on a rocket to outer space? You might be sick.”
Brian: “Yep.”
Abby: “So let me get this straight. You want an omelet with sausage and onions and peppers and tomatoes and cheese, scratch-made biscuits and pancakes with organic syrup…”
Brian: “Scratch-made pancakes, no mix.”
Abby: “Right, scratch-made pancakes, no mix, with organic syrup, and apple-wood smoked bacon. Did I get that right?”
Brian: “Yep.”

Abby: “Gee. I’m going to be cooking all day.”
Brian: “But if you’re cooking all day, we won’t have time for Disney Land, lunch with Tinkerbell, or the outer-space cruise.”
Abby: “I know.”

Brian: “So I guess we better cancel all those plans, huh?”
Abby: “Yeah, probably so.”

Brian: “That stinks. Maybe another day?”
Abby: “Maybe.”
Brian: “Don’t worry. We can go Monday. I’m off all day on Monday.”
Abby: “Okay.”

We open our prospective books and read in silence for a few minutes. And then…

Abby: “Wait, what kind of cheese do you want on your omelet?”
Brian: (without missing a beat) “Goat.”
Abby: “Goat. Got it. So you want a goat cheese omelet with sausage and onions and peppers and tomatoes with scratch-made biscuits…”

And we both collapse into giggles. Because we are awesome. And I am not above bribing my husband with the omelet that never ends in order to spend a few more hours with him. Any day.


Things My Husband Says

Like many Americans, we buy our toothbrushes in the convenient multi-packs, so that when it’s time to switch, we don’t have to try and remember to buy more toothbrushes first. (Which works out well…until the multi-pack turns up empty some random Thursday night.)
Recently it was time to make the old switcheroo. Ever the thoughtful wife, I asked Brian which color he would prefer. Forgetting momentarily that my husband is somewhat color blind, I held up his choices: dark royal blue or cheerful Carolina Panther’s turquoise (or for those non-football fans, think Caribbean blue.)
To say that I was hoping he’d pick the dark blue so I could have the Carolina Panther’s turquoise toothbrush would be 100% accurate. But I never thought in a million years he’d pass it by. So I just held my breath and waited for him to choose the toothbrush I wanted. Which would have been fine. Mostly.
Brian spent a second looking at the toothbrushes in my hand, then cleared his throat and said, “I want the blue one.”
“Really?” I replied, surprised. “I thought you’d take the other one!”
“Why? It’s brown!” he said.
Confused, I glance back at the toothbrushes in my hand. It occurred to me that turquoise might be one of those rare colors that confuses him if not seen in some sort of context. Decidedly anxious to make the Carolina Panther’s turquoise toothbrush my own, I eagerly squirted toothpaste on it, shoved it in my mouth and said, “But honey, it’s not brown, it’s Carolina Panther’s turquoise!”
Brian, the eternal toddler, shouted, “NUH-UHN!” and raced to the bedroom. Moments later he appeared around the corner holding his Steve Smith jersey in hand. I extracted the toothbrush from my mouth, held it up for comparison, and said, “See? Exact match.”
Sullen and feeling fooled, Brian muttered a curse word under his breath and stomped back to the bedroom. As he’s hanging up his Steve Smith jersey I hear him say, “Stupid color blindness.” And I giggle.
*     *     *     *     *     *     *    *    *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

I got a phone call from my husband yesterday afternoon. As is our fashion, it was a quick conversation using as few words as possible.

Brian: Hey babe. I’m heading to Target. Need anything?
Abby: Yes. Body wash, please.
B: Suave?
A: Yep.
B: Scent?
A: Whatever you think smells pretty.
B: Got it. Love ya, bye.
A: Love ya, bye.
A little while later, Brian returned from the store bearing his purchases. I headed into the kitchen to help him unload the bags. That’s when I discovered the body wash I asked him to pick up for me. And it was this:
I read the label aloud. “Suave Naturals ‘Everlasting Sunshine,’ huh?” I flicked the lid open and gave it a sniff. “Oooh, babe, that does smell good. Thanks.”
Brian’s voice, muffled from the living room, said, “I didn’t buy it because it smells good, I bought it because of the name.”

“Really? Why?”

Brian peeked his head around the corner, a wide grin on his face, and said, “Because you’re MY everlasting sunshine.”
Score one for the hubs.
*     *     *     *     *     *     *    *    *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
We hopped in the car one afternoon, bound for a since-forgotten location. As we drove out of our driveway, I pulled my lip gloss out of my purse, flipped the visor down, and began to apply.
At that moment, Brian glances out of his window and notices a neighbor painting the roof of a dilapidated old trailer that lives in the lot next to ours. He snorted, then said, “What’s the point? It’s like putting lipstick on a pig!”
Completely unaware of what was going on outside of the car, I lowered my lip gloss and looked over at him, hurt and confused. “Excuse me?” I say.
Brian took a minute to realize what just transpired, and how I must have assumed he was speaking about me. He threw his head back and roared with laughter, leaving me to wonder why I was just highly insulted by the man I married. In his fits of hysteria, he was finally able to point out the neighbor on the roof with the paint brush.
I still didn’t think it was funny.
Now I do.