I, too, fight for covers every night. Karin is a roller, and I sleep like a log. That is, until she rolls over and whooshes the covers off me. Then I'm not so much a log. I'm awake and exclaiming EXCUSE ME, MAY I HAVE SOME COVERS PLEASE AND THANK YOU
One time Karin rolled over and rested her arm on my face. When I woke her up she couldn't figure out why I was laughing so hard. (Unrelated to covers wars, but anecdotally funny.)
Aaron made dinner. A crazy mix-em-up with a breaded chicken breast topped with pesto and melted cheese. It was very good. He commented that he thought the leftovers would be good sliced up on a salad. I replied that I would prefer it with just the breaded chicken breast. I thought the pesto and cheese wouldn’t go as well with a salad. Some discussion ensued, he said, OK fine it wouldn’t be good on a salad. And I’m all, “I wasn’t saying YOU couldn’t like it on a salad, I was just stating my preference.” Of course this made me realize, “LOL, Sylvia is all messed up because of you. That is totally what she does whenever we disagree with her.”
Aaron asks me in a hesitant voice, “I have this vague idea that I used to maybe have slippers?” ”Well, yes, we got you some for Christmas.” ”Do you know where they are?” And of course, I do because I saw them under the bed a month ago and said, “Do you know your slippers are under the bed?” Which he either didn’t hear or didn’t process. So I pull out the slippers and he is so happy. He’s all, “These are amazing, they are even better than what I thought I had. These are making me so happy.” Etc. But all I can think about is how I’ve been so hurt that he never wore the slippers that I got him, because I was sure he would love them. So then I’m all, “LOL, Sylvia is messed up because of me.”
Aaron and I have an ongoing battle over the covers. When I go to bed first I make the bed and fix the pillows (no, we don’t make our bed in the morning, don’t judge me). When he goes to bed first he (used to) just fall into bed and then when I came in I had to pull and yank and fuss with the covers and/or yank my pillow out from underneath his head. He does make an effort now, but we have a different set of standards for this process. So last night he went into bed and I came along a few minutes later. He has clearly fluffed up the covers so that I MOSTLY have covers, but the corner is all tucked under and so when I arrive I give him “the look.” You know, the one that says, “This is what I’m talking about, the bed isn’t made, your side is made and mine is just jumbled up.” And so he’s all, “I made it!” and I’m all, “Look at this,” and he’s all “Whatever” and I’m all ok and just start grabbing all the covers and rolling myself up in them until I’m just a ball of covers and he has nothing left. At which point he says, “I need some covers,” and grabs me and the covers and pulls the whole Nicky/blanket ball on top of him. So, end result, we had to take all the covers off and he made the bed while I laid on it, which is about my favorite thing in the whole world.
What do these three stories mean? I guess I’m saying everybody is messed up, but I think that is OK.
How is it you embody everything I think a Tumblr blogger should be?
I almost feel weird even answering this. It is the kind of nice thing someone says and you sort of feel guilty about hearing because it seems so, so immoderate. I don’t know if it is because I’m from the midwest or what, but I prefer, or maybe I actually feel that it is important or necessary, to fade into the background.
However, as I’ve said before, tumblr is a place where I try to let myself be awesome. (It is a constant challenge)
I don’t think there is much to this blog except my life. One thing I can say about myself: I’m WYSIWYG. I guess my tumblr is too.
I never really imagined anyone (aside from my sister-in-law) would even look at this tumblr. But somehow it has given me this whole army of incredible friends.
I hate you. It’s bad enough you waste paper sending me these clarifications regarding changes to the byzantine FDIC rules, but you close the letter with the assurances that this WILL NOT affect my account in any way. I should certainly fucking hope not. First, OPEN the letter with that, so that I may crumple it up sooner so that I may practice my devastating clad-only-in-boxers jump shot.
I swear to God, send me another one of these and I will invent a time-machine to go back to the 15th century and beat your ancestor to death with his abacus. Then I will take the time machine forward and find the dickless wonder who designed your awful website and wet-towel snap him until he shits himself screaming. Really, it’s awful. It’s as unintuitive as a comic-book nerd in a locked room full of drunk strippers. I want to believe you’ll change it someday, but you’re all too busy eating the souls of poor children.
Burn in hell,
Sometimes a post touches me in ways I can’t even explain.