Random Marriage Story.

I don't blog often enough, I know.  I'd apologize, but you know it'd be fake.

I am making an effort, though.  See?  Me, here writing.  Eh.

Actually, I have to tell you a funny story.  It's a funny story that only a married couple will appreciate.  I've been married for 6 years.  My husband has yet to learn the famous words, "Yes, honey."  Instead, he's still asking, "Are you sure?"  Men, just learn to say it, "Yes, dear."

So, two weeks ago I had my hair done.  It's totally a girl thing, getting your hair done.  It's also essentially vital to a woman's self esteem to have good hair.  My hair is my vanity.  It's very Biblical Samson, I know.  So, two weeks ago I go to see Amanda at the HairZone, in Dudley. She's amazing and works magic with my hair.  She lightened up and threw in some highlights and bobbed in some new layers.  Long and the short of it, my hair look gorgeous.

A few days later, my husband has yet to notice the hair.  Or, if he has, has yet to comment.  Instead, he opens up the bank account online.

"Honey," he says.  "I've been looking at the bank account trying to find ways that we can cut spending.  There are some discrepancies in our bank account that I want to point out to you."  I stole a moment out of eye sight to roll my eyes, because I know this translation:  "Honey, I've decided to take this moment from your life to criticize you and your spending habits, while I pretend to be innocent in these spending infractions."

So he pulls up the bank account.  He points to a debit from the account of $185.  "See," he says, "That's a huge chunk of money.  I certainly didn't spend that much money anywhere, did you?"

"Ah, I see what you mean."  I said to him.  "By the way, did you know that the line under the price tag there shows you exactly where that money was spent?  You see this one here, for $185?  The line under it says Market Basket.  I know that you are unfamiliar with this type of store, but this is called a grocery store.  This is where I buy all the food you eat each week.  And yes, it's expensive."

That shut him up for about two minutes, when he found the bill for the HairZone.  "You spend over a hundred dollars on your hair?!"  His head nearly exploded at the idea.  "I don't spend a dime on my hair.  I buzz it in the sink, and you're spending over a hundred bucks on your hair?!"

"Patrick, your hair doesn't count. You're going bald."

This led to a long debate about whether or not I should buzz my head and make a fashion statement.  He later stated I could buzz my hair if I wanted, but he would not be seen with me.  He then refused to admit that the way I looked, the way my hair looked, was important to him.  I decided pointing out his own contradiction would serve no purpose, so I walked away from the lost cause.

That's not my funny story.  That's a married story, and we've all heard them/had them/whatever.

Tonight, we're watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith on FX.  It had waaay too many commercials.  One such commercial caught our attention.  Sitting in a room of bubbles and whipped cream, sparkles a bottle of vodka surrounded by confetti.  Sitting on a swing next to the vodka with a bottle of whipped cream is a woman with platinum blond buzzed hair.  Seriously, it's as short as Patrick's.

He says to me, "Why in the world would a woman buzz her hair like that?  I mean, does that make sense to you?  Does she think it looks good?"

"I don't know honey, maybe she just didn't want to spend $100 every six weeks getting it done.  Or perhaps she simply got tired of her husband complaining about the bill."

Patrick groaned and buried his head under the pillow.  I, of course, in all my poise and graciousness, cackled like a fairy tale witch, laughing until tears spurt from my eyes.

Patrick sulked all the way into bed.