Boo's Rebuttal

So, apparently, I've painted my darling husband in a bad light. I mean, what is so bad about wanting to surf an internet dating site, have your wife provide you with a picture so you can post a profile and have all the crazy skanks toss their online panties at you?

I don't know what I was thinking when I blogged about this yesterday. Silly me.

I would like to thank all of you who saw my side of this issue and agreed with me. We silly people find strength in numbers.

To the sole person out there who sided with my husband, who also happens to be my Piano man and a supposed best friend, I say to you "Harumph. Let's just see what happens the next time the fat ugly chick comes up to me in the bar and asks if you are single. We'll see how well I do as your wingman now, sugar."

Since I believe in playing fair, and because my husband is coming home soon for the long weekend and I would actually like to have sex with somebody other than my little rabbit buddy, wink, wink, I have decided to let my darling husband have an opportunity to defend himself. On my blog. To my online friends. The same friends the Piano man called "intelects."

(Snicker. Feel free to tear him a new one at any time.)

I'm (passively agressively) digressing from the point of this post. But because I actually believe my husband and his naive intentions, and because I love him so, I will share my blog with him for the day. I want the world to know how he rocks, and how he is the best man for the job of holding my hand and putting up with my shit. With out any further ado, here is my Boo:

Wow! You do totally know that people we know read this and you just made me look like I'm the anti-christ! You also know that I talk to you about these thing in confidence and total privacy. I had kind of hoped that we could keep this just between you and me, seeing as how all my family and friends read your blog.


(Doesn't everybody?)

Okay, this is absolutely the untruth and you did twist things. I did ask for your help with a picture to post, but it is not because I am looking for a girl to get some. And you know that. Why would I ever trade for something with lesser quality than what I already have?

Furthermore, have you seen the women up here? They have more facial hair than I do, for the most part. And they could use one of those make over shows to lose the small town farm girl appearance they have going on. It's one thing to wear shit kickers at the farm, but it is all together a different look when you see it at the grocery store.

Obviously, I am a little worried that all of our discussions will make it out into the blog world and to my family and friends and be laid out there for me to be ridiculed by the entire world. A man likes to make his stupid marital mistakes in private. I realize I was the one who gave you the idea for this post by suggesting this idea in the first place, but I didn't realize how bad the idea sounded in print.

Okay I went overboard. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I even thought of, or brought up the whole friend finding thing. That was obviously a mistake and not well thought out or seriously considered on my part.

I promise not to go on any internet dating sites or to look for a coffee buddy beyond the people I work with daily if you would be so kind as not to post my blunders for the world to ridicule. A man's ego is fragile. There are only so many kicks it can take before shattering completely.

But for the record, I never sat down with the hot asian girl for coffee. I only saw her a hand full of times.

I am sorry, and I love you very much. And for all of you out there, all you have to do is read her words and look at her picture up in the corner to know why I married her and why I would never trade her in.

That and she would kill me.

RNM's Boo.


There you have it, dear internet. See? He knows where his sugar comes from. And don't worry, our marriage is safe and sound. And I did promise that in the future, if he blunders this badly again, (because who are we kidding, we all know it's gonna happen again) I will go a little easier on him. On my blog, that is.

I reserve the right to bitch-slap him back to reality in real life.

And because so many of you asked, here is the picture I WAS going to send to him to use on his profile:







But I changed my mind. I didn't want people to think I actually let that man climb on top of me. Eww. Besides which, he looks like one of my uncles.

Here is the actual photo I did send him:







I love you Boo.

It's my Blog, I'll Write What I want to...

I am not a morning person. Besides waking up with breath so foul that even my dog buries his head in the covers to avoid having to inhale my scent, I am cranky, sore and tired. It comes with sleeping in a mattress that has seen better days. I have to be careful of where I sleep or I risk being impaled by a rogue spring. Of course, being shoved, scratched, and pawed at night does little to help restore my bright and shiney disposition. Nor does the occasional lick.

Which I might enjoy, if it was coming from my husband. However, my little rat of a dog is another story. I've decided Nixon, the World's Greatest Dog, Ever. and I make mighty poor bedfellows. Especially when he manages to entangle a claw into the ole boob ring.

Which he did, again, last night.

F*#ker!

While nursing a sore nipple and a bad attitude I stumbled out of my lumpy bed and walked my aching ass to the coffee pot. I read somewhere that a shot of caffeine first thing in the morning is good for increasing the cheer in your dispostition for four to six hours. Just enough time for me to fully wake up and prevent myself from throttling my children. Who are running wild like imps while on spring break.

Coffee is the lifeblood for my children. It's what has kept them alive all these years. Not food, water and shelter. Java.

As I'm sipping my coffee and trying to ignore the sounds of my children trying to kill each other wrestling in the living room, my hubs calls for our morning chat. He is just getting off night shift and is getting ready to crash for the day.

"Morning Boo. How was work?"

"It was okay. Boring. They had me bent over like a monkey humping a football all night long, so I think I'm gonna need a massage. I'm thinking of booking one of those special midget massages. Hee hee."

Yawn. Gonna take more than a midget massage first thing in the morning to rile this wife up.

"That's nice dear. Enjoy yourself. Ask them to use the hot oil so it penetrates the muscles."

Clearly, I've confused him. That was not the reaction he was aiming for. "Um, okay. So, how did you sleep?"

"Not worth a damn. The dog had his ass in my nose the entire night long, and he kept letting out tiny little POOFS! He farts worse than you. And he got his claw in my ring again. Just about tore my boob right off."

It's at this point that my husband goes on his tirade about the damn dog and how he has no business sleeping in bed with me. Which I agree with, but remind him that since he's not warming my body at night, the dog is the next best thing.

That or the neighbour boy. Which would he prefer?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Then my darling husband drops a bomb on me.

"They fired the Hot Asian Chick yesterday. She blew off a shift and now I don't have any friends up here."

That got my attention. "Since when were you friends with her?" (How did she go from the hottie he ogled to friend?)

"Well, we started having coffee together while I waited for you to get up. Now I don't have a coffee buddy."

(Aww, that just breaks my heart, darling husband. I can't tell you how tore up I am that you can't sip your coffee while ogling the fresh meat in front of you.)

"Aw, that sucks. I guess you'll just have to make a new friend. Any boys down there?" I ask.

"Nah, just the dudes I work with and we see enough of each other. I'm thinking of going on a friend finder and signing up to meet some people," he says casually.

Suddenly, the coffee has kicked in and I'm at full attention.

"You mean an internet dating service?"

"Well, um, yeah," he stutters, "but you can meet just friends to hang out with too."

"And are we looking to meet boys or girls on this site?" He's hearing the warning tone in my voice, but like a moth to a flame, he proceeds anyway.

Fool.

"Well, if I can meet a guy, great, but I doubt any guy is going to be looking for a coffee buddy. It will probably be a girl. But don't worry, honey, it's not like that."

Sure. Doesn't sound bad at all. My husband, my very attractive husband, is out of town, getting massaged by midgets and is now trolling for ladies on the net. Doesn't worry me at all.

I remain silent, digesting this biting my tongue so hard it may start to bleed, so he blunders on. "It's not like I'm looking to get any. I've got you and my bottle of lotion for that. I'm just looking to kill some time."

How reassuring. I remain quiet.

"I need you to email me a picture so I can post it on my profile." Yes, because he thinks I'm going to be a willing participant to his debauchery.

"Please?"

"Sure. No problem. I have just the picture for you. I'll resize it and send it today."

"Aw, babe, I knew you'd understand. And don't worry. You know I love you. I'm just lonely and bored. Unless you want to come down..."

Somehow, I'm not in the mood to make that happen.

Besides, I have to dig up the nastiest, most bloated picture I can find of him. And then do some careful photoshopping. He he.

"Oh, and one more thing." He must have brass balls by this point, I think to myself.

"What's that, sugar?" (Again, he's missing the DANGER!!! tone in my voice.)







"You're not going to blog about this, are you? I don't want people to think I'm gonna cheat on you or anything. I don't want to take a beating on your blog."

"I don't know what I'm going to blog about today, honey," I assure him.

Fuck right, I'm blogging about this. My husband is trolling for a girlfriend coffee buddy. If he's worried about me painting him in a bad light, I have four words for him.

Get your own blog.

Now I have some photoshopping to do.

Danger

***Updated Below***

Generally, when my darling hubs is out of town, our only communication tends to be the brief phone calls that occur when I wake up in the morning and when he wakes up in the late afternoon. Our conversations tend to consist of "How did you sleep?", "The kids are driving me batshit crazy!!!", "Did you see that hot Asian chick again today?", "How much did you spend on supper? You think we're made of money????" and my personal favorite, "Do you miss me?"

(Of course I miss you, darling. What between cleaning up dog shit, chasing after your kids and the tracks they like to make when ever they come through the door, trying to decide what to feed those children so they don't wilt away and ruin our chances at adopting a new one, keeping your family informed about your whereabouts, and generally just living the life of a single mother, I have nothing but time on my hands to jones for you, your smelly feet and the untold amounts of laundry that seem to follow you whenever you land on my door step.)

Yes, our phone calls are nothing, if not romantic. But the current job the hubs is busting his arse on, has a perk. (Besides the hot Asian chick he gets to ogle every day.)

He has Internet access.

While I like to tease him to stay off the porn sites, I know that he is much too tired to engage in that type of debauchery. Instead, before he crawls into bed to dream of the hot Asian chick his beautiful wife, he checks his email and reads my blog.

Understand, this is a big deal. My husband is not a reader. When he is home he likes to sit on the sofa next to the computer and have me narrate my posts when I've finished them. I read them aloud and wait for the typical eye-rolling that accompanies once I've finished.

(See what you taught your daughter Boo? She got that lovely trick from YOU.)

He has even taking to posting responses to some of my posts. So if you see a Boo in the comments, (you'll know it's him by his grammatical and spelling errors), say hello. He's watching you.

The other morning, just after I stumbled out of bed and pried my children out of their warm soft beds with a jarring "GOOD MORNING!!!" (uttered in a loud, annoying sing song voice) while flicking on their overhead lights, but before my morning cup of java, my husband called.

"I just read your post, love."

Yawn and stretch. "Good morning to you too, Boo. Which post would that be?"

"The one where you speak so eloquently about your vagina."

"You mean the one where I mention how it was torn and tattered by your lovely children -" Hurry up you two! You're gonna miss the bus, and if you think I'm driving you, you've got noodles for brains! "- That one? The one where I mention my monstrous hemorrhoid?"

"Ya, that one."

"You liked that, did you? I was particularly pleased with it myself."

"Um, no," he said dryly. "It was a little descriptive."

"Which part? The part about my vagina or the part about my hemorrhoid?" Now I'm confused and somewhat irritated and desperately needing my caffeine fix. Meanwhile, the children are arguing over how many scoops of sugar to dump over their cornflakes and my right eye has developed a sudden twitch.

"Both. It was a little graphic, don't you think?"

"Are you kidding me? Don't you remember what my vagina and ass-end looked like after I squeezed those suckers out? I thought I understated the truth!"

"You do realize my aunt and uncle read this blog!?"

"No, I didn't. Are you asking me to censor myself so you'll feel more comfortable when you read my work?" Un-freaking-believable! Of all the mornings for my damn coffee maker to take it's sweet ass time percolating my fix.

"Well, I don't want you to censor yourself, just maybe, not write so graphically. Or descriptively. Or mention your vagina, your boobs, or any part of your body that needs to be covered while out in public."

"Wait a second, are we talking about the uncle who asks if you need a pussy poultice whenever you get a boo boo?"

The kids are now arguing over who gets the last raspberry yogurt tube, Nixon the World's Greatest Dog, Ever. keeps jumping up on my leg, begging for attention and my fu*%king coffee still isn't ready.

"Yeah. Him."

"I'm going to pretend we didn't just have this conversation and you aren't going to mention censorship around me, ever again, before 8 am. Deal?" My tone is more than a little annoyed, and my children were almost blinded by the DANGER!!! sign flashing above my head.

My husband must have seen the light, so he quickly changed the subject.

"So do ya miss me?"





***My darling husband is mortified and flattered all at once that you all have taken the time to drop him a line in the comments. Try not to be too nice to him though. His head will swell up like some helium balloon and his ego is already monstrous.

Oh, and hello to his aunt and uncle if they're reading this. I love you!***