Tag Archives: Hostess

I’m a married man!

I have the pictures.  I have the license.  I have the ring.   But nothing has served as a reminder of my semi-newish married status quite as much as the box of feminine hygiene products which has apparently been in my back seat for the last 4 weeks.  

Despite making a whispered phone call from an aisle at the grocery store which I have successfully avoided for the first 37 years of my life, I bought the wrong pink and white box.     

Over the last 10 months, there have been a few “pink and white boxes,” but I have tried to learn from my mistakes and make my way through a crash course in being married.   Like a total immersion French class which drops you off on the streets of Quebec, my wife Jen and I have spent the last 10 months getting to know everything that makes the other person tick.   And while we haven’t had any issues conjugating verbs, we have had more than one conversation about my misuse of kitchen dish towels.  

It is in the common everyday things, cultivated over many years of living by myself, where I can truly drive Jen nuts.  

For instance, Jen does not subscribe to my trailblazing  and non-discriminatory style of laundry, in which everyone goes in together.  Colors and whites.  Beach Towels and dress shirts.    All are welcome.   And I stand behind my record of never turning any shirts pink or filling the basement with suds in a hilarious “Mr. Mom” fashion.  I live on the edge.  I don’t know how to live any other way.  

And for me, the living room coffee table seems like a perfectly acceptable place to leave a baseball cap which looks like one Steve Kline would have worn on a deep-sea fishing trip.  

It's Kline time.

Most recently, Jen has discovered that my version of cleaning the bathroom involves enough chemicals to cause a OSHA violation in most states (excluding New Jersey).  If it isn’t making me woozy, I’m not doing it right.  

A few weeks ago, I got a glimpse back into my bachelor life, as Jen went out-of-town for business.  And to say that things got crazy would be, well, a lie.  I was reminded that my actual bachelor life didn’t resemble the TV show of the same name.  Unless they have recently substituted the scenes of the bachelor being surrounded by women in a hot tub with one of him watching “Mythbusters” by himself and preparing a dinner in which the only serving of fruits or vegetables is included in a Hostess Cherry Pie.  

Fruit Pie the Magician appears nightly at Binion's in Downtown Vegas.

 To say that I wasn’t exactly knocking it out of the park as a bachelor is an understatement.   At the bars, the only conversation I ever had in which the young lady approached me  started off with her saying, “It stinks over here.  Did you throw up?”  Ahh, the one that got away.  (And to answer your question, no, I had not thrown up.)  

The one good thing that came from my bachelor weekend, was that the proprietor of my local pizzeria was very happy to learn that I was still alive.  However, rising tomato prices and the loss of my weekly business has meant that his daughter is just going to have to live with that overbite.  

Someone asked me recently if I thought being single was much easier than being married.  In some aspects it was, but making a frozen burrito for your dinner is pretty easy too.  Sure, you can get by on frozen burritos (and, trust me, I have) but when it comes down to it I would much rather put in the effort on a great meal that I can share with someone else. 

Jen has truly changed my life for the better, and I wouldn’t trade my married life with her for anything.  And despite raising the level of sarcasm in her life by roughly 300%, I think she would say the same about me. 

I know that I am only 10 months in, but I think that you will get the same answer if you come find me in 10 years.  I shouldn’t be hard to find, I will be the guy in the pink shirt.



Filed under Humor(?)