Everyone has secrets. I have secrets, you have secrets. Every once in a while, though, when a secret gets revealed, you think, "WHOA! I did not see that one coming."
This happened with my husband this weekend.
My sister-in-law bought her family season tickets to University of Michigan football this year (Yippee! Go Michelle!). Rex and I are OBVIOUSLY State fans, not U of M ones, but Big 10 football is awesome no matter how you slice it. We got the tickets to go to this weekend's game against UNLV, and we were very grateful for the opportunity. I wanted to wear a Las Vegas shirt, but I realized that I have no UNLV shirts or even any that say Las Vegas on them. Strange! Then again, do you have a shirt with your town's name on it? I guess when you live there it's weird to buy touristy shirts. Hmmm. Plus, Michelle told us that the tickets were in the alumni section and that we needed to please not embarrass her. Therefore I couldn't go wearing an MSU shirt or anything, which would look ridiculous anyway since we weren't playing them. I begrudgingly agreed to wear a U of M shirt, since we did get the tickets for free and all. I wanted to be nice.
I CLEARLY do not own and U of M shirts (ew, gross, the thought of it gives me the willies). I asked a friend at work if I could borrow one of hers because I know that she goes to U of M games sometimes. Unfortunately, she couldn't find hers the night before the game. She suggested I go buy one. "They're only like, $10," she said. I steadfastly refused. I am not paying my hard-earned money to support maize and blue. No siree. Not even if it's only $10. I told Rex that I was disappointed to not be supporting either team, but that I would just end up wearing some non-descript outfit to the game. It felt wrong, like showing up to a Halloween party without a costume or singing in a choir but forgetting your robe. Everyone else would be wearing team apparel, and I'd be a loser. Suddenly, Rex comes up with this:
"I think I have a U of M shirt you can borrow."
Huh? I mean, I knew he had a sordid past of being a U of M fan in high school, but this was almost a decade ago. We'd long since worked through that issue and moved past it (lol). He'd been since enlightened. Why would a U of M shirt still be lurking in our house? I told Rex, "Well...if you can find the shirt, that might be nice..." I was figuring that, if such a shirt did exist, it would be buried in a forgotten box somewhere in a dusty corner. Preferably one with spiders and mice ruining the clothes inside.
To my surprise and slight horror, Rex came back upstairs a few minutes later with a box.
"Which shirt would you like?" he asked. "I have this one..." he pulled out a standard maize-and-blue Michigan shirt, "or this one..." he pulled out a Rose Bowl 2004 shirt, "...or this one..." he pulled out a maize-and-blue jersey. He then started on the sweatshirts, other T-shirts, and this veritable COLLECTION of University of Michigan attire. My mouth dropped open. Who is this man?! Why does he have so many enemy clothes?! How have these clothes made it through SIX moves since we've been married without me discovering them?!
It was as if he was showing me a secret porn stash or something. WHY DO WE HAVE THESE DISGUSTING THINGS IN OUR HOUSE?! And how did he find them so quickly?! Is he a secret U of M fan? How can I be married to a stealth wolverine?
It was quite shocking. I didn't know what to do with the fact that we have all of these clothes. Unfortunately, I had agreed to wear a shirt to the game. I chose one that mostly fit, but I felt dirty wearing it. We has a great time at the game, but now that it's over I'm trying to figure out what to do with this box of nasty Michigan clothes. Knowing Rex, he's probably already hidden it back wherever it was before so I can't find it and burn it.
Go Green.
Go White.
Forever.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Saturday, September 12, 2015
Ripped Shorts
Want me to let you in on a little secret?
Come closer to the computer...I don't want anyone else to hear it...
Marriage isn't always fun.
*GASP!* I know you're gasping right now. I'm sorry to have to rock your world like this. It's not. Sometimes it's work. Sometime's it's compromise. Oh, you want an example? Sure. I've got one. Sometimes I have to let Rex dress himself when we go to parties, even though he might look ridiculous. You know, because I have to respect his individuality or whatever.
A good example of this is when we went to a dinner party for a lady at his work. I had just gone to a wedding with Rex the evening prior, where he had worn a shirt and tie and looked very nice (because I told him he had to and picked out his clothes). Therefore I felt that I needed to back off and not tell him what to wear to this dinner party. When he came downstairs in ripped shorts, a blue collared beer shirt with "Rex" embroidered on the front, black socks, and a camouflage hat, I shook my head but stayed quiet. I'm his wife, not his mom. If he wants to look like a weirdo, that's on him.
When we got to the party, he got a couple weird looks (duh), but my absolute favorite moment of the night came when Lindy, the hostess's eighteen-year-old daughter, said, "Okay Rex. Um...explain your outfit to me." He acted surprised and said, "What? What's wrong with my outfit?" I almost spit my lemonade out from laughing. Lindy continued, "No! It's just that...I want to be laughing with you, not at you, so you need to explain the ripped shorts and why you look like a mechanic mixed with a lumberjack."
THANK YOU, LINDY!!!
I seriously could have hugged her. These are the things I can't say to Rex. Rex, suddenly (possibly?) realizing that he looked ridiculous, tried to defend himself: "I love these shorts! I've had them since I was sixteen! See, these shorts are really a metaphor for life: once I find something I love, I never let it go. So maybe they have a few rips in them, maybe they're not as great as they once were, but do I stop wearing them? No! I am loyal! This should be comforting to Christine. If she ever gets old and fat or stops being all awesome like she is now, she knows that I'll never let her go because I never let anything go once I really love it. Like these shorts."
Which, you know, was a little bit sweet in it's own weird, Rexish way...but I still want to burn those dumb shorts. Lindy tried to make sense of the rest of the outfit, but eventually gave up because...come on...the outfit made no sense. At least it was Rex's work party and not mine. I have my school picnic on Friday, and I'm already trying to figure out a way to dress him while letting him think he came up with the outfit himself...hmmm... Maybe I'll call Lindy for help.
Come closer to the computer...I don't want anyone else to hear it...
Marriage isn't always fun.
*GASP!* I know you're gasping right now. I'm sorry to have to rock your world like this. It's not. Sometimes it's work. Sometime's it's compromise. Oh, you want an example? Sure. I've got one. Sometimes I have to let Rex dress himself when we go to parties, even though he might look ridiculous. You know, because I have to respect his individuality or whatever.
A good example of this is when we went to a dinner party for a lady at his work. I had just gone to a wedding with Rex the evening prior, where he had worn a shirt and tie and looked very nice (because I told him he had to and picked out his clothes). Therefore I felt that I needed to back off and not tell him what to wear to this dinner party. When he came downstairs in ripped shorts, a blue collared beer shirt with "Rex" embroidered on the front, black socks, and a camouflage hat, I shook my head but stayed quiet. I'm his wife, not his mom. If he wants to look like a weirdo, that's on him.
When we got to the party, he got a couple weird looks (duh), but my absolute favorite moment of the night came when Lindy, the hostess's eighteen-year-old daughter, said, "Okay Rex. Um...explain your outfit to me." He acted surprised and said, "What? What's wrong with my outfit?" I almost spit my lemonade out from laughing. Lindy continued, "No! It's just that...I want to be laughing with you, not at you, so you need to explain the ripped shorts and why you look like a mechanic mixed with a lumberjack."
THANK YOU, LINDY!!!
I seriously could have hugged her. These are the things I can't say to Rex. Rex, suddenly (possibly?) realizing that he looked ridiculous, tried to defend himself: "I love these shorts! I've had them since I was sixteen! See, these shorts are really a metaphor for life: once I find something I love, I never let it go. So maybe they have a few rips in them, maybe they're not as great as they once were, but do I stop wearing them? No! I am loyal! This should be comforting to Christine. If she ever gets old and fat or stops being all awesome like she is now, she knows that I'll never let her go because I never let anything go once I really love it. Like these shorts."
Which, you know, was a little bit sweet in it's own weird, Rexish way...but I still want to burn those dumb shorts. Lindy tried to make sense of the rest of the outfit, but eventually gave up because...come on...the outfit made no sense. At least it was Rex's work party and not mine. I have my school picnic on Friday, and I'm already trying to figure out a way to dress him while letting him think he came up with the outfit himself...hmmm... Maybe I'll call Lindy for help.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
The Things We Do for Love
Rex has picked up a new hobby: grouse hunting.
This is kind of like saying, "Michael Jordan picked up a new hobby...it's called basketball." Or "Italy picked up a new hobby...it's called pasta." Rex is SO into grouse hunting. He eats/sleeps/breathes grouse hunting. He doesn't even go on facebook anymore because he found a new social media site that's "way better" and only for grouse hunters. Because if you're not a grouse hunter, why on earth would he want to keep up on anything going on in your life? He wouldn't. Duh.
We've put well over $1,000 into our (his) ridiculously crazy hunting dog, Ruby. There's buying the puppy itself, then vet appointments, shots, special collars, etc. etc. etc. This is an expensive hobby. I wish my hobby (writing) would start making some money so that we could afford his!
Anyway, this weekend Rex was running Ruby through the woods at his grandparents' farm (it's not hunting season yet, so she wasn't hunting anything). I asked if I could go with him for two reasons: 1. I am a supportive wife, and 2. I wanted to see what all of the fuss is about. He said sure, so we went together.
It's not that I don't LIKE grouse hunting...
...I mean, it's pretty fun when you really think about it...
...sort of...
...if you think about it in a certain way...
Okay here's the thing: I was completely unprepared. I had no idea what I was doing. I wore jeans and a t-shirt. Rex wore a hunting vest with hiking boots and literal chaps (like a cowboy - CHAPS). I thought he looked stupid until I got all sorts of briars and prickers in my legs. Then I wished that I was wearing chaps too. Ruby looked like something off of a sci-fi show with her millions of collars and antennae and bells strapped on her before we left ("This one's the GPS collar, this one's the e-collar, this antenna tracks her..." etc. I tuned him out but nodded appreciatively and pretended I knew what he was saying).
We started walking through the woods, and I whispered something to Rex. He answered back in a totally normal voice and said, "Why are you whispering?" Umm...I don't know, because we are HUNTING!??! I thought you always had to be quiet during hunting. Apparently birds don't care about that, which I didn't know. Oops.
Hunting with a dog (even when we're not actually hunting) means that you follow the dog through all sorts of thick brush and thickly wooded areas. Our dumb dog doesn't know how to use her nose yet, so we were literally just following her around while she frolicked through the forest. I put my hand on a tree to steady myself at one point, and a slug fell on my arm. I didn't want Rex to think I was a weenie, so I obviously couldn't be all, "Ewwwww!!! A SLUG!" but I'm sorry: ewwwww...a slug. It slimed me.
I got all kinds of scratches and bug bites, I got dirt all over, and I couldn't help thinking, "Ummm...why does Rex think this is fun?" Then I looked at Ruby, and I got a little idea of why. I have never seen a dog so happy. She was bounding through the woods with the biggest smile on her face, her tongue lolling out to the side, and her eyes round and bright as if to say, "THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!!!" Then I looked at my husband, and I realized he looked basically the same way (minus the tongue lolling out of his mouth, because that would be weird and somewhat concerning). So even though I made the mistake of putting my hand on another tree and accidentally touching a giant spider (again: EW), I decided that maybe this isn't so bad after all. If it makes my family happy, it makes me happy. I just need to get some chaps and bug spray. Also maybe some gloves so I don't have to touch any more nasties crawling on the trees.
*sigh* Why can't he pick up an easy/cheap hobby like stargazing or reading Shakespeare?
This is kind of like saying, "Michael Jordan picked up a new hobby...it's called basketball." Or "Italy picked up a new hobby...it's called pasta." Rex is SO into grouse hunting. He eats/sleeps/breathes grouse hunting. He doesn't even go on facebook anymore because he found a new social media site that's "way better" and only for grouse hunters. Because if you're not a grouse hunter, why on earth would he want to keep up on anything going on in your life? He wouldn't. Duh.
We've put well over $1,000 into our (his) ridiculously crazy hunting dog, Ruby. There's buying the puppy itself, then vet appointments, shots, special collars, etc. etc. etc. This is an expensive hobby. I wish my hobby (writing) would start making some money so that we could afford his!
Anyway, this weekend Rex was running Ruby through the woods at his grandparents' farm (it's not hunting season yet, so she wasn't hunting anything). I asked if I could go with him for two reasons: 1. I am a supportive wife, and 2. I wanted to see what all of the fuss is about. He said sure, so we went together.
It's not that I don't LIKE grouse hunting...
...I mean, it's pretty fun when you really think about it...
...sort of...
...if you think about it in a certain way...
Okay here's the thing: I was completely unprepared. I had no idea what I was doing. I wore jeans and a t-shirt. Rex wore a hunting vest with hiking boots and literal chaps (like a cowboy - CHAPS). I thought he looked stupid until I got all sorts of briars and prickers in my legs. Then I wished that I was wearing chaps too. Ruby looked like something off of a sci-fi show with her millions of collars and antennae and bells strapped on her before we left ("This one's the GPS collar, this one's the e-collar, this antenna tracks her..." etc. I tuned him out but nodded appreciatively and pretended I knew what he was saying).
We started walking through the woods, and I whispered something to Rex. He answered back in a totally normal voice and said, "Why are you whispering?" Umm...I don't know, because we are HUNTING!??! I thought you always had to be quiet during hunting. Apparently birds don't care about that, which I didn't know. Oops.
Hunting with a dog (even when we're not actually hunting) means that you follow the dog through all sorts of thick brush and thickly wooded areas. Our dumb dog doesn't know how to use her nose yet, so we were literally just following her around while she frolicked through the forest. I put my hand on a tree to steady myself at one point, and a slug fell on my arm. I didn't want Rex to think I was a weenie, so I obviously couldn't be all, "Ewwwww!!! A SLUG!" but I'm sorry: ewwwww...a slug. It slimed me.
I got all kinds of scratches and bug bites, I got dirt all over, and I couldn't help thinking, "Ummm...why does Rex think this is fun?" Then I looked at Ruby, and I got a little idea of why. I have never seen a dog so happy. She was bounding through the woods with the biggest smile on her face, her tongue lolling out to the side, and her eyes round and bright as if to say, "THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER!!!!!" Then I looked at my husband, and I realized he looked basically the same way (minus the tongue lolling out of his mouth, because that would be weird and somewhat concerning). So even though I made the mistake of putting my hand on another tree and accidentally touching a giant spider (again: EW), I decided that maybe this isn't so bad after all. If it makes my family happy, it makes me happy. I just need to get some chaps and bug spray. Also maybe some gloves so I don't have to touch any more nasties crawling on the trees.
*sigh* Why can't he pick up an easy/cheap hobby like stargazing or reading Shakespeare?
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