Michael and I, each have different views, when it comes to the safety of certain products and foods that we bring into our home.

While I’m Mrs. Label Reader, Organic Wannabe, Non-Toxic Chemical Guru, OMGosh….DID YOU REALLY JUST FEED THEM FOOD….FROM A CAN – SAINT.

Micheal’s motto is if I ate it, drank it, or touched it, when I was little – and survived….they will too.

And then we have the same conversation…over and over.

Sure you survived, but think of how much longer you would have survived if you hadn’t come into contact with those foods and chemicals.

What?

I mean if your parents would have just taken a few extra minutes out of their day, to read the labels and stuff, your life span would have been longer.

I’M NOT DEAD!

All I’m saying is that they deprived you of life.

Still alive.

And it’s really such a shame AND a bit selfish on their part.

Are you serious…nevermind.

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Michael: The gravy is on the stove cooking – and the bread is in the oven. In 5 minutes turn them both off. I have to go down to the store.

Me: Okay.

Michael: Okay?

Me: I. Will. Do. It.

Michael: Don’t let the food burn.

Me: Why do you doubt me so?

Michael: Okay. I’m going to trust you with this.

20 plus minutes later I receive a text

Michael: Did you burn the bread?

Me: Yes.

Michael: And the gravy….

Me: Yes.

Michael: Do you want pizza?

Me: Yes. Do you want me to order it?

Michael: Nah. I ordered it on the way out.

So for the last few day I’ve been in a semi-slump. Not really sad. And not really happy. To tell you the truth I wish my hormones would just pick a side. Sad or Happy. It’s really not that hard. Anyway, I was discussing this dilemma with Michael the other night…and here’s his take on it.

Me: I’m sad and happy.

Michael: Are you sad happy? Or happy sad?

Me: I think it’s more like sad happy happy sad sad.

Michael: So the sad dominates the happy?

Me: I think so. The sad is the winner here.

Michael: I have a solution.

Me: I knew you would. That’s why I married you. You’re the “tweaker.” You solve all problems. So. What’s the solution?

Michael: You should take a bath. Studies show that when a person has build up deposits of dirt on their body, it can affect their mood.

Me: So dirt is the real culprit here.

Michael: Of course.

Me: I wish I had time to take a shower.

Michael: I wish you had time too.

Me: Maybe, I’ll shower after you shower.

Michael: …maybe.

Me: It would be nice if someone could watch the kids while I showered.

Michael: That would be nice.

Me: *sigh*

Michael: I think I’m going to bed after I shower….watch a movie or something.

Me: Such a lovely world you live in.

Michael: Babe! If you want to take a shower…just say so. I”ll put the kids to bed.

Me: I want to take a shower.

Micheal: Okay! That’s all you had to say…but you’re going to have to wait. I used all the hot water.

Sidenote: I didn’t take a shower that night. I fell asleep while waiting for the hot water to return. I guess it went on vacation or something.

Michael and I will mark our 6th year of wedded bliss this July 4th.

Moonwalk on that all you haters, naysayers, and bitchy lady who took forever to give us our marriage license!

Anyway. Why did we decide to tie the knot on Independence Day?

1) We were (are) madly in love. 2) We had a tiny situation. (that’s Code Blue, possibly Pink, for KNOCKED THE HELL UP. 3) We didn’t have to spend money on invitations since our wedding ceremony was held immediately after church service. (yes, we were married on a Sunday right after Sunday School. And yes, fornicators attend church too.)  4) We were flat broke and his family’s annual 4th of July backyard barbecue could double as our wedding reception.

Genius? I think so.

I must say, YOU HAVE NOT ACTUALLY LIVED until you’ve attended a wedding reception/4th of July backyard barbecue. I would compare it to drinking champagne from a helmet that has a straw attached. A continuous flow of uncultured goodness.

Ahhh!

Note: Wedding receptions/4th of July backyard barbecues are only acceptable if you actually marry on the 4th of July. Any other occasion is just WRONG and should be considered in poor taste. I can say this because I took an etiquette class once. And though I didn’t actually pass the class, I still consider myself to be an expert on the subject. AND THAT’S MY FINAL ANSWER!

Moving right along.

The truth is, I want a real wedding. I dream of walking down the aisle with a smile so wide, white, and bright that my guests will think they’re watching an Orbit’s commercial instead of a wedding. TING!

A reception venue where my new/old husband and I will have our first dance in style – instead of in denim cut-off shorts. Vera Wang and “Chicken Wangs” ARE NOT SOLD IN THE SAME STORES, PEOPLE!

Like all brides before me, I too would like to shout from the mountaintop, IT’S MY WEDDING DAY, DAMMIT! Instead of IT’S MY WEDDING DAY DAMMIT, NOW ACT LIKE YOU HAVE SOME CLASS AND DRINK FROM THE DESIGNER PAPER CUPS!

And what blushing bride-to-be doesn’t imagine telling their fiance/husband HELL TO THE NO YOU AIN’T HAVING NO STRIPPER HOS AT YOUR BACHELOR PARTY! And then march right out the door into an awaiting limo filled with Chippendale dancers who all resemble Will Smith.

See folks. I’m just a girl with a dream. A dream that ends with my Fairy Godmother/Wedding Planner/Jennifer Lopez saying: LIGHT THE FIREWORKS, INSTEAD OF THE BARBECUE GRILL PLEASE!

Last night I almost installed a donate button on my blog. It was for a good cause. Bail money.

It’s hard dealing with a snoring husband, but a snoring, farting husband is unforgivable, and worth a trip to the slammer!

This morning my husband asked me to cook him grits and eggs for breakfast. I told him that we were out of grits. I then waited for him to go shower, so I could run into the kitchen ( yes, I ran) and hide the grits behind the hand mixer.

Instead, I served him a cup of Organic Greek Yogurt with Honey, and a piece of fruit.

Misery loves company.

Please forgive my absence.

There was a motorcycle accident.

The man. My husband. Michael was involved.

Skin was lost. Stitches required. A receding hairline discovered. His…not mine.

Anyway, as soon as he recovers, I’m going to slap him upside his head for getting on a motorcycle with no helmet and scaring the hell out of me and the kids write a post detailing the accident.

Until then….relax and take a sip.