While I typically attempt to entertain you with stories from the underworld of marriage, relying on G to be the main spoke in the crazy wheel, I’ve realized recently that the tire on the crazy wheel just might be…me.
I gave G my blessing to do something that I have now been told by countless women they would never allow their husband to do. No, it’s not a threesome. That is still off the table. Unless she loves to cook, clean, and babysit. In that case, email me a headshot and vaccination report.
If it’s not a threesome, and I’ve already allowed him to convert a perfectly lovely dining room into a billiard hall, what could I have possibly permitted this time?
I LET HIM BUY A HOUSE THAT I HAVE NEVER SEEN.
That’s right. He Bought House. I Never Saw.
You’re Googling Shady Acres facilities for me right now, aren’t you? As long as I receive a couple of good candidates for cooking, cleaning, and babysitting, I’ll go willingly and wear a uniform.
After much careful consideration and too many meals at the Red Robin next door to the La Quinta Inn, we decided that moving out of New Jersey (and far, far away from the Red Robin) was probably advisable. We don’t have immediate family nor any desire to live out our years there. We had unhooked ourselves from our home and I had left my job. I’m not Italian enough to be considered for a future season of the Jersey Shore. And G is a licensed attorney in his home state of Maine. Suddenly, after a bad case of heartburn, Maine was looking like a nice slice of Americana in which to bring up our kids. I think I was just craving a lobster roll when I finally consented.
Because I’d already taken the trip that we shall never speak of to Maine and because house hunting with children is about as painful as having moles lasered off without anesthesia, I let G undertake the very important mission to find us a home in the town of Camden, Maine on his own.
Finding a home might have taken a lesser person (like me) at least 19 separate trips, but G being the more efficient and child-free part of our duo was able to find one and put in an offer all before lunch.
While I sit here with my children in fog-locked California, G got the keys to our new home. With exception to some carefully crafted language – I swear, he’s become like a realtor – such as ‘cozy but could use some TLC’ and ‘a little paint would help’, it sounds…good. And considering I tried to relocate him to a Tuff Shed in the yard for his birthday, it’s probably lucky for him that he did find the house. Although I’ve already assessed the backyard and there’s room for that Tuff Shed should I need it.
Take a look. Looks cute, right? Just say yes now. You can commit me later. Check ‘yes’ on the vegetarian meal plan and ‘no’ to roommates with violent schizophrenia.
(Have I gone loco or would you have allowed this? Come on, who’s on this crazy train with me?)