you wish you were married to me
October 7, 2006
Last night I felt so horrible that I went upstairs to bed right after I hit publish. I guess I just didn’t feel complete until I shared my misery with the internet.
I went upstairs and just flung myself onto my bed, without even brushing my teeth. I just didn’t think I could walk the last few feet to the bathroom and put forth that sort of effort. But as I lay there in bed I just kept thinking over and over that if I should die during the night I really hope that the funeral person brushes and flosses my teeth before putting me in my coffin. I would hate for my children to bend down to kiss me goodbye and smell like the rotting prime rib. Oh the melodrama that exists inside my own head.
Luckily I lived through the night.
This morning at first light Miles woke up. I
kicked gently woke Rob and told him, “Get the baby.” He thought I said, “Go get Miles and put him in our bed and promptly fall back asleep so that Miles can climb on my head, pull my hair, and jump about my body like I am the unfortunate person on the bottom of the mosh pit.” I can understand the confusion. They do sound so similar.
Finally I gave up and got out of bed. I drank my coffee and perfected my martyr routine by baking muffins for breakfast because, “Somebody has to take care of these children, and it obviously isn’t you.” Yes, I am good. I should give martyr lessons.
I did think briefly of killing Rob with my evil martyr eye when he said, “if you want me to do something all you have to do is ask.” Because he sounds so reasonable and martyrs don’t like reasonable. We like wallowing, sulking, and possibly the threat of being burned at the stake.
But then I remembered that he is residing a portion of our house this weekend. And truly that is a fate worse than death; a fate which is slightly worse than having to live with a martyr ’til death do you part.
And yes, I do feel much better today, thank you for asking.
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