You know I don’t like to be mean, right? I hate hurt feelings. I avoid hurt feelings almost always. Except sometimes. Like now. I can’t help it. I just wanted to say this one thing, and then I’m done. I’m sorry if it hurts feelings, but sometimes there are things begging to be said.
This one thing I wanted to say was about politics and Facebook. Right, I know. You’re already annoyed. Just hold on a sec. I’ll be quick about it. I just wanted to gently point out that there a few things on the interwebs that aren’t actually true. I’m sorry if you didn’t know it.
Be careful, okay?
There’s more. The thing is this. Sometimes, I see viral political posts with inflammatory titles. Sometimes I click on these posts; usually for entertainment. Once you are somewhat fluent in interweb-speak, you can identify real news from propaganda. I worry for folks who can’t tell the difference.
The other day, there was this really outrageous political story posted; the poster was very mad about this political thing. I looked up the website from where the story originated; it is a fake news website, and I don’t mean “The Onion” either. Most people know “The Onion” is satirical. I mean a website that was created to make you think it was a real news website. Only, it isn’t It’s fake news, written by people who are fake reporters who have the job of coming up with fake stories. Yep. Real job.
For further entertainment, I looked at the comments below the story. People were really mad about this thing that never happened. Some people devoted entire paragraphs loaded with misspelled words and grammatical errors, expressing their anger over this thing that never happened. It made me feel sorry for humans. We’re so easily manipulated.
I have to admit, some of the angriest posts with the poorest English had me clicking on the author to get a better look. Outspoken, angry people with poor grammar intrigue me. Those kind of people should teach classes on how to improve your self esteem. I mean, good for them. They’ve never spent a minute of their lives doubting themselves.
I’m done with that subject.
This week Scott and I celebrate 22 years of freakin’ wedded bliss, baby! Every day is a honeymoon in our house. Every day I’m surprised with another love sonnet, a bedroom covered in rose petals, or a lovely serenade. Wait. That isn’t what your marriage is like? Gosh. Sorry about that. Maybe you should take some marriage classes or something.
Well. I might be misrepresenting things just a little. Things might possibly be a bit less romantic than I described. But, still, pretty good. I mean, Scott and I texted each other about a half dozen times this week. All the texts were about our schedules, but, I think that counts. AND…we both know our anniversary is this week. That is also something kind of unusual. We usually remember our anniversary AFTER it happens. That’s kind of dreamy, right?
Did I tell you that Reggie had surgery this week? He did. He had surgery, and he also had 4 teeth pulled. Reggie has to wear the Elizabethan Collar for the next two weeks. Otherwise known as the dog cone of shame.
One night this week, Scott mentioned how busy we’ve been; he said he might like to talk to me again some time this summer. I told him I was thinking the same thing. I miss him. I feel like we are living parallel lives that rarely intersect. We are using all of our mental and physical resources to manage our careers, children and home. We wouldn’t dream of making ourselves, or our relationship a priority. That would be selfish, right?
Scott and I got into bed that night. I strained my head to look at Scott over Reggie’s cone of shame as Reggie laid in the middle of the bed; I thought, I just don’t know what comes between us. How does it happen?
I have been thinking that there are other married people with relatively happy marriages, and busy teenagers, who are like us. Couples who take their obligations seriously, who are happy to devote their days to serving all the people in their lives. It wouldn’t occur to these couples to schedule their lives around their relationship with their spouse, because they know that is the one relationship that will always be there. Because all marriages last forever, right?
Maybe some of us need to rethink how we do things?
I don’t know about rose petals, sonnets and serenades, but I’m going to try to turn this ship around. Here’s my love poem to Scott. Happy 22nd Anniversary, my love!
I Like You
I like your hair. I like your eyes.
I like your jokes, and how you’re a cute guy.
I like the way you try your best.
I like the way you rarely rest.
I like knowing you cannot lie.
But when my butt looks big, I’d like you to try.
I like the gentle way you are a Dad.
I like knowing our kids’ pain makes you sad.
I like the way you never brag.
I like when you deny I look like an ol’ hag.
I like the way you like to have fun.
Baseball, ping pong, or going for a run.
I like that you are kind and not angry.
But, mostly, I like that you chose me.
And THAT, my friends, is how you make Emily Dickinson look like an amateur.