I decided I've had enough doom and gloom for a bit and thought we should have something on the lighter side of life...At the risk of embarassing myself but hopefully adding a little humour to everyones day, I'll go first in the hopes that others will share some of their lighter moments...I was only a young 19 when I met hubby, an older man at 29...Well I was feeling like I had hit the motherlode...a 29 year old man...wow look at me go...anyway on one of the first nights we spent together, as he started to fall asleep, he started to talk in his sleep...I thought geez I remember something about being able to carry on a conversation with someone who is talking in their sleep so decided I could get some much wanted information...after asking a few questions about everyday things and getting an appropriate response, it was time to get to the nitty gritty...so off we started with questions such as did he like me, how much did he like me, did he think I was pretty...you get my drift...really immature teenage type questions...things were going along hunky dorrie until all of a sudden I got an answer I didn't really like...and as I was paused to mull his response over, I hear "and you ask too many god damn questions" OOPS !!! Well besides being mortified at the realization that he had been awake, I was speechless (a rarity) It always surprised me that after a beginning like that, we have been together for 36 years lol
We were friends with a nice couple who invited us over for a Christmas party one year. When we got there and knocked on the door, it was answered not by Hugh or Phyllis, but by the well-known man who happened to be the mayor of the city. (We didn't know him other than from seeing him in the newspaper or on TV.) Larry and I just stopped dead for a second, and then of course regained our equilibrium and exchanged the usual pleasantries as the mayor held the door for us and we went in. He reached for the bottle bag I was holding, and said, "I'll just take this over and put it on the table for Phyllis." Larry muttered in my ear, "Good thing we didn't buy cheap wine!"
When we were first married, all my sheets were 100% cotton. (We didn't use his sheets, because the colors didn't work in our bedroom.) Anyway, I always took them right out of the dryer, shook them out good, and put them on the bed, but I didn't iron them. He said to me, "I don't think I can really sleep on sheets that aren't ironed."
Oh no, I thought to myself. What a prima donna. Does this retired man seriously think I am going to come home from work and iron sheets? I mean, I liked a nice, well-kept home, too, and I never minded doing my part--I liked being a housewife--but my time and energy were only going to go so far. I wondered if I had made a terrible misjudgment and married someone who was really going to be demanding.
So I got home from work that day, and found my husband upstairs working away with the ironing board and iron--you guessed it--he was ironing those sheets himself.
What a sweetheart. I just could not believe it. I went out the next day and bought some decent perma-press sheets, and neither of us ironed the bed linens!
Not long after we were married, we wanted a date night. A night out sounded like fun. Only problem we did not have much money. So we went to the big city an hour away, had a nice dinner and then went hotel hoping. We went from hotel to hotel looking for free bar entertainment, bands and such. Not buying drinks, just standing around listing. It was fun, then we started riding the elevators up and down, talking about how fun it would be to stay in a four or five star hotel. Well on one of our trips on the elevator a manager stopped the young people on with us and kicked them out of the hotel. Not knowing we were doing the same thing. Pays to dress the part. LOL
"Pays to dress the part" comment by Blue reminded me of when we were first married and shopping for furniture. We had just arrived in the Baltimore area. Vermonters -especially back then- are not known for a sense of fashion and I had not made the adjustment. We were treated very shabbily, and it gave me insight into the treatment other folks consistently receive. Later we lived outside Atlanta, and I never did manage the suburban housewife look.
When my son was little he would turn brown as an Indian (we lived on a reservation so he fit right in with the other kids except for his blond hair). He would be brown except a cute little white bum. One year when we had my family get together at my brother's property where we spent the weekend white water rafting, we were all sitting around the campfire talking about tans. My son was home from Marine boot camp. I mentioned how brown he would get when little and his cute white bum. He stood up, said 'I still have one' and mooned us!! Of course he was tanned from boot camp and sure enough had that cute white bum. We all cracked up laughing, even the younger kids thought it funny!