So I’ve been moping around lately.
I have no good reason.
I think I’m so used to being busy that suddenly being out of school with nothing to do, I’m walking aimlessly around the house feeling slightly insignificant.
Oh sure I could probably vacuum and make the beds.
But then what would my husband do when he gets home from work?
So, in an attempt to preserve his sense of self-worth, I mope.
I’m a good wife like that.
Then today when I was on Facebook, I started chatting with Meleah from Momma Mia, Mea Culpa and discovered that she’ll be going to Tribal Blog Conference in June.
That conference is in Minneapolis, a mere 8 hour drive from my city.
I love Meleah!
I want to meet her!
Then later on in the day, I get this message from Margaret from Nanny Goats in Panties, and she’s all, “Oh em gee, you’re Absolutely Narcissism” and I’m like “Oh em gee, you’re Nanny Goats in Panties!”
And I can’t believe she even knows or cares who I am, but she’s gracious and charming, and I think she’s brilliant, AND she’s speaking at the conference.
So I HAVE GOT TO GO!
My husband comes home from work, and I tell him about my fantastic day, and I’m all, “Look! I’m not moping anymore! I may even feel like fucking!”
And he’s like, “Why?”
So I tell him about the conference, and I explain how we can incorporate it into our family vacation (’cause I’m
manipulative efficient that way).
And for a split second, he’s on board.
Because he doesn’t like the date.
Because…I have no fucken idea why, because after he grumbled about the date, my mind switched to white noise.
Then…THEN I’m blog surfing…you know, to ease my disappointment…and I’m reading one of my favourite blogs We Work for Cheese when I see mention of my name and the name of my blog…
Nicky, the author of the post, has written this post about me at the Tribal Blogs titled “Where Are All the Funny Blogs?“
I’m not speechless often.
But holy fuck.
So I go out to the garage where Wayne is fixing my brakes, no doubt thinking this will cheer me up…I know, right!…and I show him the post.
The fucken post!!!
He doesn’t say, “Well, sweetie, clearly you need to be at this conference.”
He says, “Finally something you’re good at.”
I’m like, “What. Did. You. Just. Say.”
He says, “I always knew you were good at writing.”
I heard wrong the first time.
So I go for a run, and of course, while I’m running, my mind is working furiously.
How am I going to get this guy to budge?
What do I need to do to convince him that Minneapolis is a fine place to vacation at the end of June?
A bottle of lube will definitely be involved in my plan.
I get back from my run, and as I walk into the living room, Wayne looks at me, and with a worried look, says, “What’s wrong?”
“What?” I reply.
“Why are you crying?”
I’m not crying, but when I run in the wind, my right eye tears up.
So squeezing out a few more tears, allowing them to drip down my cheek, and hoping that my mascara is leaving a trail along with them…you know, for effect…I say, “Oh…yeah…I’m just a little sad that we can’t make those dates for the blog conference in June.”
Squeeze squeeeze tear tear…
Wayne gives me this concerned look, and between trying to be a good husband, and loving hockey playoffs more than me, his head is swivelling from the tv to me, tv to me, tv to me…probably a good shot was made, I frankly don’t know because I was frantically trying to squeeze out a few more tears, but in a rush he says, ”Ok ok, we’ll see what we can do!….” then he yells to the tv, “SHOOT THE PUCK!”
Looks like my work here is done.
And I didn’t even have to pull out my secret weapon.