Tag Archives: marriage

There’s Good News and Bad News…

Last night as I left a friend’s house, I got pulled over by a cop.  I have not been pulled over in years…come to think of it, neither has Mike.  We have a great track record, and as I pull to the side of the road, I’m totally annoyed that I’m the one who broke it.

“Hello, ma’am,” he says politely.  “Do you know how fast you were going?”

I hate when they ask this.  It’s a trick: answer honestly and you admit to breaking the law.  Lie and you look like a liar.

“Um, maybe 35 or 40, sir?” I reply.

“Well, in fact you were going 43, and this is a 35 zone.”

“Yikes,” I gulp, with the most pathetic look on my face.  “I’m so sorry, Officer.”  My father taught me to always address policemen as “officer.”  So far, it appears to be working.

“Where were you going in such a hurry?” he asks.

I don’t have time to think of something less embarrassing, so I tell him the truth.  “I was watching ‘The Bachelor’ at a friend’s house and now I’m just driving home….”

He fights a smile.  He has the kindest eyes I’ve seen on a police officer, and this gives me a ray of hope.  And I desperately need that ray of hope, because I know what’s coming next.

He walks back to his patrol car, and then two minutes later returns to my window. 

“Now, looking at just your speed, that’s about $150.  But did you know your tabs are also expired?” 

There it is.  I’m hosed.

“Actually,” I say to him, “just yesterday my husband noticed that and told me to change them.  I’m really sorry, Officer.”  This statement is one hundred percent true.  I bite my lip and look up at him.

He goes on, “And I can’t prove it, but there was a construction site about a quarter-mile before I pulled you over, so that would be another $150.  And the tabs would be $100.  Do you realize this is a $400 ticket?”

He says all of this, but has nothing in his hands.  Against all odds, I hear the tingling sound of victory bells three miles away.

“My goodness, I can’t believe that.  I’m so sorry, Officer.”  And I really am — I mean, who can claim to have their life together and be driving around on January 31 with tabs that expired in October?  Yes, October.

He smiles and hands me my license.  “Have a nice day.”

I am too shocked to speak.  I cannot even smile.  I look up at him and say “Thank you,” but it’s small and quiet because I am stunned into silence.

I didn’t get a ticket!  I thank God the entire way home for his divine mercy, because that’s the only explanation for that officer’s behavior.

I decide to tell Mike that I got one anyway, so that when I tell him I didn’t, he’ll be really excited.  This is a cruel game married people love to play.

I walk into our condo slouched over like Charlie Brown.  I don’t make eye contact.  I just say, “I got a ticket.”

“What?  No way!  How fast were you going?”

“43 in a 35.  But it’s the TABS!  The TABS make it $400!!” 

Now he remembers our little conversation yesterday, and he’s mad.  But right as I’m about to make his day by telling him it didn’t happen, he interrupts me.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”  he asks.

What is he talking about?  I’m supposed to be dropping all of the bad/good news…

“I got a ticket today, too!”

“????……#$@&…..@$#%…..$%&@……….$@&*……………..!!!!” 

I don’t actually cuss at him, but the dozens of explosives going off in my head at once won’t allow me to process a coherent response.

He apparently doesn’t notice that my jaw is on the floor and my eyes are three inches outside my head, and keeps talking.

“Man, am I relieved.  I’ve been dreading telling you all day, but now that we both did it, you can’t be mad!  This is awesome!”

His joyful glee needs to come to an end.  We are not in the same boat.  There is a crucial difference to our stories, and it’s time he knew what it was.

“AHA!  But I lied!  I did get pulled over, but I DIDN’T GET A TICKET.”

I thought of the most obnoxious dance possible and starting doing it with great enthusiasm.  In case you’re into details, it involved a lot of hip thrusts and pumping of arms.

I was dancing so violently I barely registered his expression of shock.  But being the ever-optimist that he is, it didn’t take long for his indignation to give way to his mental calculations. 

Suddenly he was ecstatic again.  “Do you realize what this means?!  It’s like our insurance will barely even go up at ALL!”

Mr. Sunshine has a point.  And I’m so grateful that I didn’t get nailed that I decide this is one of those moments in life that is most ironic, and we high-five.

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Filed under AwkWORD (Humor)

It’s Official: I’m Not Marrying Prince William

He’s engaged. 

Prince William asked his girlfriend of eight years, Kate Middleton, to marry him. 

To put my current previous obsession with Wills in perspective, consider this: my friend Amy sent me a text at 4:11AM telling me the news. 

Because news like this cannot wait. 

Because she knows I’ve been waiting for it. 

And because she knows I need to hear it from no one but her.

This is a woman who once collected every article written about Princess Diana for an entire year.  They were all kept under her bed, stacks and stacks of magazines and newspaper clippings of every detail of her life and tragic death.  I would go over to her house across the street and we’d pull them all out and stare at hundreds of photos.  We knew her life story, her family dynamics, her best dresses, her worst hairstyles. 

So, you could say it was picture perfect that a Prince William obsessor should get a 4AM text from a Princess Di obsessor.

We were 13 at the time, however, so it might seem silly that we care at age 26.  It might.

But I am not concerned with silliness, because I absolutely love royal weddings, and this one should prove to be more fantastic than the rest.  I cannot wait to see what style of dress she will choose, how decorated his suit will be, how many people will line the streets of London hoping to catch a glimpse.

Kate is already moving up my ladder of style icons.  People may joke about her over-the-top headpieces and formal hats, but I think they’re divine.  If it were even in the vicinity of socially acceptable in the States, I’d be sporting one every chance I got.

Given my propensity for formality and etiquette, I am eager to see the royal wedding process unfold.  I already admire their delayed announcement and press call, so the couple could have some private time to celebrate.  And in an age of reality TV and totally lack of privacy, I respect their decision not to share the details of how he proposed. 

These are the times when I mourn my lack of celebrity.  If I were at least a successful actress or daughter of a President, I might have a chance at an invitation.  As a Seattleite with no claim to fame, I probably won’t need to watch the mail too closely.

Which really is a shame, because I would have rocked a killer headpiece for that event.

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Filed under Good WORD (Etiquette)

Crushing

Mike and I have had a bizarre summer, involving several solo out-of-state trips to non-vacation destinations.  

When I say solo I mean we each went separately.  

When I say non-vacation I mean Iowa, Nebraska and New Jersey.  

I will wait while you recover from the shiver of relief that our summer experience was not your summer experience.  

Add to that that Mike has spent every moment studying for the GMAT and you have yourself a less-than-ideal situation for those golden Seattle months of July, August and September.  

So last week we looked at each other and decided there was only one thing to do that weekend: get out of town.  We wanted to stay within driving distance to keep costs low, so we ruled out anything involving a plane.  We considered going to Victoria, BC, but we had been before and it didn’t feel compelling.  I suggested we head to wine country because it’s crush season (harvesting grapes) and it’s over the mountains so it would be 80 degrees.  

Done and done.  

We drove to Richland, WA early Friday afternoon.  Before we even hit the pass, we felt the champagne-like bubbles running through our veins, the near-forgotten tingle of escaping the city and going somewhere new.  Neither of us had visited this part of the state before, unless you count the two visits to Yakima during high school for state-wide track meets.  Mike and I met during high school track, and we both distinctly remember riding in the bus together to those meets.  We also remember where the coach always took us to eat: Miner’s Drive-In Restaurant.  

Restaurant is a really loose term.  When I have to order my food at a counter resembling McDonald’s, I struggle to refer to it as a restaurant.  

It only just occurred to me:  why was our track coach feeding his athletes fatty burgers during a meet weekend?  Nevermind.  

The nostalgia overwhelmed us so we pulled over in Yakima and visited Miner’s.  As I got out of the car Mike warned me, “Don’t be alarmed if people ask you if this is your Prom night.  It’s just because you’re so overdressed.”  I was wearing jeans.  

  

After arriving in Richland we checked into the hotel and then cruised around to see if there was anywhere fun to go at 8PM.  It didn’t take long for us to notice that Richland is not a city, it is a town.  One that closes at 8PM.  

We stopped at the grocery store to pick up some wine and then went back to the hotel.  We went to the hot tub and were having a splendid time when Mike decided to jump in the pool.  I had zero interest in giving up my little hot heaven for a cold splash of agua, but — am I alone in this? — what is it about watching someone else have fun in a pool that makes you feel like if you don’t jump in this exact moment you’ll always regret how you weren’t living life to the fullest and you’ve become that adult who never gets in the pool?  

Needless to say, two minutes later I was acting like an eight-year-old in the pool and loving life.  This is so much of why I married Michael — he’s gifted at getting me to lighten up.  

And I think after frolicking in a pool together, we’d really set the tone for our weekend.  Therefore, the next day we joyfully shimmied through the following wineries:  Goose Ridge, Tapteil, Chandler Reach, Terra Blanca, and Hightower.  

It was astonishing how gorgeous the vineyards were, how diverse the wineries were and how much money we felt compelled to spend after tasting people’s wines.  We quickly realized if we were the only people at one winery, there was almost no way to escape without a purchase.  However, if the place was packed wall-to-wall, we could taste the wine and then leave without feeling pressured.  

  

  

I’m pretty sure we bought at least one bottle per stop, however.  At least now we have a collection.  

And why not go for the cheesy attractions?  Why not stomp with the best of them?  Apparently saying to everyone, “I feel like ‘I Love Lucy!'” is neither unique nor witty.  In fact, it’s incredibly cliche.  Oh well.  Live and learn.  Oh wait, that’s another cliche.  

We are stomping grapes, though it's not obvious because the gifted photographer failed to include the focus of the photo.

On day two we visited Mercer, Airfield and Two Mountain.  On the way to Two Mountain (which was in a really rural area, comprised mostly of residences) Mike suddenly whipped the car in a U-turn and I started exclaiming, “what?  What’s wrong!?”  

“Didn’t you see that sign!?  Back there!  In the driveway!” Mike yelled.  

“What sign?  I’m trying to read you directions!” I replied.  

“FREE BLACK LAB PUPPIES!!!!!!!!!!”  he exclaimed (there are no number of exclamation points that can capture the look in my husband’s eyes).  

I had to cover my eyes with my hands because I couldn’t think of a better way to react to the news that I am totally and royally screwed.  It’s one thing to have a husband who constantly begs for a dog; it’s quite another to put five puppies of the breed he most wants in his hands and tell them they are his for free.  

We pull into the driveway and see two women come out of a double-wide and wave us over to their backyard.  I look into the backyard and see one little black furball laying in the grass and realize this is going to end badly.  Very, very badly.  

It’s not just one puppy.  It’s five puppies.  And they are perfectly black, perfectly perfect, and rolling all over each other to get to their mom.  There is a large red tractor that they all scramble under for shade and in two seconds Mike is on his hands and knees reaching for them like Lenny in Of Mice and Men.  

It’s not long before the begging begins.  

“Babe, please!  This is perfect!  It’s meant to be!  They’re free!  And we weren’t even looking for them and here they are and they need a home and maybe we could take two and if we don’t take them who will and we could just drive them home right now and I already have a name and…”  

I stare into the sky wondering what these ladies are thinking of me, the monster woman who won’t let her husband have a free puppy.  I turn to the lady to my left for a distraction and instead she is standing there with a box of six-day-old kittens.  

I burst out laughing.  Is the other lady going to appear with a crate of newborn bunnies for me to also turn down like the animal-hater I am?  Is the whole world uniting to bring me down?  

I realize that if we don’t leave quickly we will soon be the parents of five puppies.  I turn to Mike and ask him what the dog would do while we are at work every day from 8AM – 5PM.  Isn’t it mean to take the puppies when they would be alone and inside all day every day?  Is that really the best thing for them?  

But he’s just staring at me with a puppy in each hand.  

Eventually he agrees and we walk back to the car.  When I say “walk,” I mean I walked and Mike did the Charlie Brown sulk.  I finally know what it feels like to be a mom and tell my child he can’t have something he would die to have.  It is one of the worst feelings I’ve known.  

But one of the other reasons I married Mike is that he gets over things remarkably quickly.  We were only in the car for five minutes before he said, “OK, where’s the next winery?”  

That’s my guy.

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Filed under One WORD (Current Events)