“I did a bad thing.”


My husband crawled into bed next to me and laid his head on my shoulder. He opened his mouth and instead of sweet words of love pouring from his lips, five scary words came out instead. “I did a bad thing,” he mumbled into my arm with worry.

“What did you do?” I was not too concerned, but my heart fluttered a tiny bit and my stomach did a little flip.

“I ate your all of your reese’s pieces.”

The body spin cycle stopped and I wrung out my emotions by hand.

“Oh. I don’t care. I forgot I bought them.” Then I laughed. I stopped and looked at him.

“It’s not like The Twix Bar.”

“I didn’t eat that Twix bar! Look, I ate your candy and then I told you about it. If I had eaten your Twix bar, I would also have told you about it.”

“Not if you are trying to throw me off your trail.”

“Are you saying I ate your reese’s pieces and then confessed just to convince you that I did not eat your Twix bar sixteen years ago?”

“It is highly suspicious.”

“I didn’t eat your Twix bar!”

“That is exactly what someone who didn’t eat my Twix bar would say.”

The criminal sighed into my arm. His breath smelled of sweet peanut butter… And lies.

My Husband’s Secret Part II


A couple of months ago, I posted a story about my husband stealing borrowing-forever my daughter’s iPod. That story can be found here, and I still find it funny.

Well, folks… He was found out.

It was hilarious.

My daughter came to me immediately after reading my story a few days after it was posted.

She began pacing my bedroom and talking to herself.

“Why didn’t I notice it before?” She shrieked. My husband was at work at the time of this outburst. I got to witness it all by myself. Sometimes I wonder how I get to be so lucky.

She told me she had observed some weird things when her iPod would sync to her iPhone while she was on the iPhone’s internet. She would think:

“Why is it synced?”

“It must have gotten enough power to turn itself on.”

“Why is it looking at fantasy football?” This one makes me laugh the hardest. Just imagining her thinking that her iPod was turning on all by itself to look at Fantasy Football is one of my heart’s delights.

The questions she asked herself were actually funnier than the secret.

I dissolved into tears.

Of mirth.

Which made her angrier.

And made me laugh harder.

“How did it take me so long to figure it out???” I deduced it was probably a bad time to tell her that she hadn’t really figured it out, so much as I told her about it. Let’s keep the emphasis on the criminal and not on the snitch.

She wanted to confront him right away, but I convinced her that there was absolutely no fun in that. No glory.

Bide your time.

Let me watch.

The questioning continued:

“Was I sleeping when this happened?

How did he do it?

When did he do it?

It works for him. He seems so innocent.”

“Brawhhhhaaaaahaaaahaaahaaa!” Went my soul after each indignant pronouncement.

Seriously, I was worried. My eyes would not stop streaming from the river of amusement.

Then the realization: “HE BROKE IT! I can’t believe he dropped it!”

I tried to assure her that this was all very funny. I am not positive that she found it as comical as I did.

We came up with a plan.

“Say nothing to him today.” I told her. “He has been on guard since the post went up. Pretend you didn’t see it.”

We hatched a brilliant scheme to confront him. But we are both terrible at secrets… Unlike my husband, apparently.

My husband came home and my daughter very innocently asked him where her iPod was.

His face briefly looked scared, but he recovered. “Hmmmm. I think it is on your dresser charging. Did you look there?” Then, the master thief that he is, went and patted his pocket in reassurance. The iPod was very clearly forming an obvious rectangle of deceit through the cloth of his shirt.


“I know. I know you took my iPod. I know you broke it.”

The thief had the nerve to start laughing.

This enraged the victim.

“Why? Why would you take it?”

“Because you weren’t using it. It just sat there for months and you never even picked it up. Besides, I bought you an iPhone and that is better.”

“But I have been looking for it!”

This back and forth exchange went on for a while. I grew weary of it.

Let’s skip to the end…

My daughter begrudgingly agreed that she was not using the iPod and that my husband could keep it.

This has not, however, kept it from being a source of merciless teasing from all of us whenever my husband is using the iPod or we think he is being sneaky.

“Oh? So, you didn’t take the last of the cheesecake? Is this like how you didn’t take the iPod?”

“Oh? You didn’t drop it? Is this like how you didn’t drop the secret iPod?”

Seriously, it never gets old. Just ask my husband. Actually, he is usually listening to his secret music on his secret iPod with his not so secret headphones, so he probably doesn’t hear any of it anyway. Which means he created, executed and got away with the perfect crime.

The crook is remorseless.

And oddly fond of the hot device.

The other day we were driving to the airport. We had just finished packing for our flight home. Our vacation was over. Suddenly, my husband panicked.

“I think I forgot my iPod in the hotel room! I think I left it charging!”

“You mean your secret iPod?” I couldn’t help razzing as he could finally hear me without the headphones.

He ignored me and pulled over. He began rummaging through our bags in a frenzy of anxiousness.

I tried to reassure him. “Honey. Even if you left it there, no one would want that iPod except for you.”

“I know. But we have go back and get it.”

Of course we do.

He is very attached to his criminal souvenir.

Thankfully, at that moment, he pulled the sad shattered totem from a carry-on bag and resurrected the poor item to its place of honor in his pocket.

“I found it!” He triumphantly declared.

Oh honey.

We all know that is not true…

That iPod was never lost.




Gypsy Spirit


Me: “Hey, I just heard that there is a whole… Hmmmm. What is the word that I want… Not congregation… But?

Him: “Cult?”

Me: “No. Not cult! A group of people. Actually they are all psychics and they all live together on this piece of land not far from here.”

Him: “Gypsies?”

Me: “No! They live in homes but they are all psychic and they live in the same community.”

Him: “So a community of tract homes like ours full of psychics?”

Me: “No. No…. Well, Okay. I think they live in trailers on the same land together. Hmmm… maybe they are gypsies. I don’t know. I just heard about them.”

Him: “Where’d you hear about them?”

Me: “My hair dresser. She went and said it was really cool. It is a group of psychics and they all live together and help each other develop their powers and I want…”

Him interrupting me, in the most natural and nonchalant way: “To join them?”

Me: “What?! No! I just want to go get my palm read.”

Me: “Wait! You thought I wanted to join them?! You thought I was going to leave and go live with gypsies?!”

Him: “Yes. I thought that was what you were leading up to.”

Me: “And you were okay with that?! Why were you so calm about that?”

Him: “Because I knew you’d come back.”


Have you ever been to a gypsy camp? Has your husband ever been okay with you running away and joining them?

*I am wearing an Anthropologie skirt from last year and a vintage vest. I could not find anything similar, but if I could afford it, I would buy this gypsy skirt and never look back. ; ) If only I could foresee if that happens…

Being Married To Me


My poor husband. He doesn’t ask for much. Really. Just love. Soap. Me to be happy. Clean underwear. I do not know why three of those tasks are sometimes impossible for me to accomplish.

I do the laundry.

I swear.

But, if there is just half of a load to do. Or three quarters of a load to do. Or ninety-ninth of a hundredth of a load to do, I will put it off. I mean I would not want to waste water on a not-full-load. I am not always irresponsible. Somehow all of my husband’s underwear ends up being in that ridiculously light load. Every time.

The other day, he decided to do a batch of just his underwear.

All of his underwear.

In one batch.

All. Of. It.

This would be a wonderful idea. It would even make sense… If he wasn’t married to me.

The sad part is he didn’t even complain about not having any clean underwear.

He didn’t say anything.

He just decided to wash them on his own.

And the sweet underwear got washed.

And the sweet underwear got dried.

And the sweet underwear got folded.

And the sweet underwear got put…

I can’t remember.

I put it somewhere safe.

I vaguely recall carrying it in my hands.

And then…


I’ve got nothin’.

I have looked all over the house. In every clothing drawer. In every drawer where clothes could hide. I cannot find them. He cannot find them. He is finally getting a little upset.

I have tried to tell him that maybe his underwear ran away to go make baby…dimes.

This did not help the situation.

Then I told him maybe Tinkerbell stole them.

Not. A. Hint. Of. A. Smile.

Today my day will be spent checking the freezer (where I once put our keys) , the baseboards (where I found my diamond earring), the pantry (where I found my glasses), the entertainment center where I found my… You get it. Well, unless you guessed brain. Then I would know you have not read my blog. I obviously left that one… Somewhere safe.

Actually, what I will really be doing today is going to the store and buying him some brand new underwear. Then I will come home and I will wash them. Dry them. Put them…

In his hands.

And be declared The. Best. Wife. Ever.

‘Cause that is what it is like being married to me.

He will feel so…lucky…

Until he finds his other underwear one day. Where I put it safely. In his briefcase. When he opens it at work.

Just kidding.

He doesn’t even have a brief case.

But I think that is definitely where those underwear went.